


The Snake and the Snitch

by LooLooTaroo



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Homosexuality, M/M, snarry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4920820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooLooTaroo/pseuds/LooLooTaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As his seventh year draws towards an end, Harry finds himself at the edge of a new life, but confronted with change at every corner he has to face new decisions that may challenge what he holds precious...and his secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, probably the most exciting grab out of my old Harry Potter fics, this was an old story that I'd been working on for some time. I found this work in a state of utter chaos but it was still such a piece of nostalgia to go through. I have about fifty pages of this one, when all is said and done, but many are scattered, divided by blank areas that say WRITE ME, and are in various stages of completion. I decided once reading it over though, that it needed more time to reconstruct it, string the pieces back together, and show you the work in all it's glooooooooory. Currently working through an intense Masseo-therapy program, I don't know how long it will take, but I've decided to try and finish the story, which has been loads of fun so far...since it requires rereading Harry Potter....for...research of course....
> 
> For now, I am posting just the very beginning, since I feel it's the least likely thing to change, and it gives me the chance to put this up with the other Harry Potter stories! It's small, I know, but think of it as...a saaaample. Yes, a saaaaaaample.
> 
> So enjoy your preeeeeview, if you will, and hopefully you can come along with and share this quirky new project!

 

 

 

 

  

            “What? What do you want?”

            “What? _What?”_

            “What a-a-are you doing?”

            “What are we—you doing! What _is_ this? Stop! _Say something goddamn it!_ ”

            “Stop…”

 

 

                                   

                                                                                *

 

 

            “ _Honestly_!” She’s irritated. Guess that’s to be expected. “I can’t believe you’d actually do it _again_!”

            “You’re acting like a real tosser,” Ron chimes in, hopping to her rescue as usual.

            “Real sorry,” I say for about the eighth time.

“You’re just so inconsiderate sometimes!” She huffs, and I watch her lips squeeze up into the unhappy-Hermione line. Her lips purse sometimes when she gets mad, it’s weird how cute it makes her face. All that puffy hair and her unhappy-Hermione mouth. It makes me smile a bit. “Are you even going to bother coming to the Quidditch party? It’s awful bloody important, you being the captain and all and it being the end of the season and all. You’re going to leave soon and I really think-”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry. Really, I am. It’s just, I’ve got a lot going on…you know?”

Hermione sighs loudly. I must have looked appropriately remorseful, because when she looks at me again, I can see the anger’s gone.

“Harry,” she says, “you’re not the only one getting ready to graduate. And you’re not the only one feeling this way.” She was speaking gently now, only a trace of the frustration still on her face. “I know it’s scary, and I know that things are still…uncertain for you.” Now she’s speaking carefully, real gently. I have to hide a smile.

Yes, things are uncertain. Real uncertain. Everything about Harry Potter’s life is uncertain. I think to myself sometimes, if they cut open my head could they get my brain out in one piece? Or would they just have to go get big spoon and start scooping out all the little jumbled up pieces of brain-mush? She’s right, but I hide the smile still, because she doesn’t know just how right. A rarity, with her, but every dog must have his day. And every wizard his secret.

 

 

                                                                                                   *

 

 

“Ah!” It’s all I get out, shoved up against the wall almost before I can register what’s happening. I gasp and turn my face, and then he’s on me. Hot breath, quick, fleeting hands, and a mouth grasping at any part of me it can catch. First my neck, then my cheeks, my nose, eyes, chin, ears. Oh God…not my ears…

“Ah!” I cry out again, fingers fisting into the robes on my lover’s back. I pull him closer and my hips jerk. He gasps, a hot burst of air against my neck, then seizes my face with long fingered hands. For a breathtaking moment he stops as his lips finally find mine, and then his hands clench me. One hand behind my head, the other on the small of my back, both trying to eliminate whatever few molecules of space might still be between us. The kiss turns into a devouring, desperate battle between our tongues and I get pressed harder still against the unforgiving stone.

I moan into his mouth, and then those hands are at it again. Moving quickly along the body they know so well, stopping to finger a sensitive place, then on to tease a nipple. He’s growling, a dark low rumble that I can feel vibrate down to the soles of my feet. His hips are jammed against mine, and when he moves to kiss my shoulders I feel his erection brush against my own. Barely able to breathe, I start kissing him back. My hands are still clutching him as I start rubbing my hips against his. I feel hot, much too hot, and I know I’m flushed.

“Harry,” he gasps through mouthfuls of the lips he’s attacking again. “Harry, _Harry!_ ” Gasping my name like a mantra, his kisses grow more desperate. His fingers suddenly clutch my arms like claws, and I’m being flipped around. A ragged gasp that sounds something like a dying choke emerges from my mouth as he pushes me again. The anticipation, the lust, and fear, yes just a little, I can’t keep it all in. Not when he’s like this.

This time it’s my belly against the wall, my cheek pressed hard to the stone, and he’s closer to me. Right up behind me, breathing in my ear, hips pressed hard against my arse…rubbing…

Another whimper escapes me and I let my head fall back rapturously as he begins peppering my neck with his hungry kisses. Kisses to nibbles, nibbles to bites. I’m rubbing back against him now, and his hands begin darting around me again, divesting me of clothes. His fingers are quicker then thought and my shirt is hanging open before I register that he’s unbuttoning it. This shirt he peels away, seeming closer still as his chest meets my exposed back.

A groan. It takes me a moment to realize it wasn’t mine. The hands loosening my belt are starting to shake. My pants fall ungracefully to the floor, is their any dignified way to drop trousers? His hands pull away from my boxers. For this he turns me around. I shiver at the cold stone’s touch, it seems to cool some of the burning in my skin.

A slow, dark, graceful descent. Billowing black as he sinks to his knees. My lover’s eyes, dark burning spots, bore a hole right through my flushed skin and into my pounding heart. There, on his knees, he sticks his fingers underneath the elastic band, and drags the material slowly away from my hips. I intake sharply as the garment brushes against my aching member, then force myself to meet those dark eyes.

We stay that way for just a moment, locked in that gaze, then that still, almost tender moment is broken. The frantic pace of a moment before returns when her rising to his feet and two deceptively strong arms pull me close. Our body heat triples as I am swept into the bed chamber, half dragged, half carried. I’m gasping, panting, whimpering, Jesus I probably sound like I’m dying. I almost feel like I am.

I hit the mattress, head lurching back into the softness. I look up to see a billowing cloak being jerked gracefully from a pair of sharp shoulders. He’s approaching quickly, shedding clothes with each hurried step. One long, pale arm, then another. The creak of the mattress.

“Severus…” I manage, staring desperately, dizzily up at the dark shape above me. I whimper as his arms come to either side of me. I feel small, overpowered, surrounded, hot…God…I’m so hot. I whisper it, the name I know I’ll be screaming soon. “Severus.”

 

 

Yes, uncertain. I look up into the dark, staring at the gray outline of stone. Severus is asleep, and I should be too, but I’m thinking. My brain is alive and thoughts zip through it like little bursts of light. Uncertain was just the word, wasn’t it, Hermione? Of course you were talking about my custody, or lack there of. You were thinking about what I would do once I left Hogwarts, once I set out to start my own life and my own future. You were thinking about how I didn’t have anywhere to go, not technically. The Dursley’s won’t have me back, Sirius is dead, my parents, dead too, of course. Yes, Hermione was thinking about all the people I didn’t have, not the person I _do_ have.

I look over to him. In the darkness he looks even paler, and his hair melds into the black pillow case. I look at my companion a few moments longer, head still buzzing with the thoughts, the memories, the lies. This is what I’m unsure of, this is what I fear. (This is also why I keep missing Hermione’s little get-togethers, but she’s never going to know that so I guess I’ll remain “the tosser” for a few more months). I’ll be leaving soon, she’s right about that, just two more months, and then my seventh year is over. I’ll be done with school, but most importantly I’ll be done with Hogwarts. Then what? I don’t know. How many excuses can I find to return and visit the Hogwarts dungeon? Or he to leave?

It hasn’t been said, but I know he thinks about it too. I can see it, in his eyes right before they look away. I can feel it in his touch and in the kisses he gives me before I go back to the tower. I stare at my lover, and know I’m not the only one who’s uncertain.

_There’s one thing I am certain of._ I lay my head down, and my hand sneaks across the bed to touch his. He makes a sound in his sleep, then his fingers mechanically take mine. _No matter where I go, no matter what happens…_ I let my eyes close.

_I can’t let this go._

 

 

                                                            *         

 

 

 

Seven months. It feels like longer, but less at the same time. For seven months I’ve savored his tastes, his sounds, his pale, pale skin, flushed with arousal and embarrassment. One wouldn’t have thought he’d be shy, not one who knew him. But then who knows him like I? Green eyes flashing at me, needy, sweaty hands clutching at me, a laughter that fills my chambers and dispels even the most well established shadow. I’ve devoured him, drunk him down, the only elixir to sate my ravishing lusts.   

For seven months Harry Potter has been mine.

            _Not enough for you, is it? It’s not enough that you’ve desecrated this child, you want more. Don’t you?_

            I’m brooding, I know it. I’m being watched, which I also know. Albus Dumbledore thinks that he is much more clever then he really is. As I stare into the cauldron on my desk, and pointedly ignore the old man’s efforts at my attention, I attempt to come to terms with the source of my moodiness. An equitable day, good enough meals, and some damn decent sex the night before. Yet I can’t bring my gaze from the bubbling cauldron. My hand is still holding the ladle, and I’m vaguely aware of the stirring motions I’m completing.

            “…and I really think it’d be down right smashing…”

            _I ought to be brewing something for that brat._ I think as I idly begin cooling the concoction. _He’s not looking so keen lately._

            “…and maybe with a little tweaking…”

            _Bit pale he’s been. Distracted. Always staring off with that look._

            I watched myself pick up the vial Albus had brought me.

            “…what a treat…” Albus was saying.

            _I wonder if Harry remembered his glasses. He left them two nights ago._ I was thinking.

            “…and who doesn’t want a little extra hooplah for a graduation, hmm?”

            I glanced up and began to register what the man before me was saying.

            “Well, headmaster, I think the whole thing is ridiculous.” Good answer; vague, all-encompassing, very in character.

            “Oh, but Severus, the normal ceremony could use a little sprucing. It’d be such a small little party…”

            _Yes, Harry mentioned a party. A week ago. Wait, maybe ten days. No, no it must have been just last week because that was the night of the bath and his cheeks were bright pink for hours…_

            “…and who doesn’t love parties?”

 

 

 

                                                            *

 

 

 

I remained in a similar vain for hours. Unable to focus, unable to care that I wasn’t focusing. Once I started thinking about Harry my mind would ricochet wildly around, and everything made me think of Harry.

_It’s just not enough, is it? You twisted old man. You can’t even think about the boy anymore, now it’s got to be him, the real him. All the time._

I glide down the halls, taking great care to avoid notice. It’s six thirty, and I catch him on his way to the great hall. Reaching out of the shadows and grabbing hold of his robe, I have him in my arms and half drag him to the nearest classroom. He’s stunned at my daring, so am I, but the door is barred, and I’ve cast a silencing spell. Still, it’s a risk, and he tries to protest.

“ _Severus_!” He whispers, “Severus, we can’t! Not here. We _can’t_!”

An argument that would have been better made eight kilometers from me, not five centimeters. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, I can see the desire that’s smoldering beneath his worry.

_Not enough for you, is it?_

            It doesn’t take long. I’ve lost track of time but I know it hasn’t been long. All I really remember is jumping Harry, and now he’s naked and using that voice that I can’t resist. Minutes? Hours? Who cares? Who _cares_?

“Oh, oh God!”

I gasp in reply, unable to do anything more.

“Severus…God, _God_ , oh my God!

The sounds reverberate back at us, echoing in the emptiness of the room. His cries, my pants, the sharp smacking of our skin. I pound him, brutally, without a shred of mercy.

“Oh… _OH!_ ” His head falls back, mouth opened in rapture. Messy black hair hanging off the desk, long pale legs twitching on my shoulders. He’s starting to shake, approaching release. I clutch his ankle with one hand, his thigh with the other, thrusting my hips faster into the hot tightness writhing below me. His eyes flash at me and I shudder. His eyes…

The little fucker looks just like his father, -may he rest in pieces,- but those goddamn eyes…Those are Lily’s eyes. Lily…The first girl I’d ever dared speak to, the only girl I’d ever really liked, the girl I thought I’d marry. Sure, of course, what wasn’t there to like? Her humor, her spirit, all that red hair. She’d been kind, intelligent, powerful, oh yes, powerful. Say what you want about the mixed wizards but I’ve learned first hand that they’re more than powerful enough.

I can still remember the times we spent together, the strange awkward moments that in my ridiculous fantasy world would one day lead to a relationship. Her friends had watched with a mix of disgust and indulgence, my friends (such as they were) had watched with pity. Lucius and Narcissa in particular had observed my failed courtship with a surprising lack of cruelty. Maybe I was just too pathetic even for a Malfoy sneer.

But then, Narcissa always was rather kind to me. We’d had a strange friendship the two of us, bonding as two pieces of Malfoy’s puzzle. I, the ugly, unpopular, genius friend that adds character to the star, and she, the beautiful, well-bred, sophisticate that of course _should_ date the handsome anti-hero she so complements and couldn’t possible expect a finer destiny. A century ago they’d have been affianced at birth.  

Narcissa had witnessed the Lily-saga with an uncharacteristic patience and something that almost sparked as compassion. On the whole too composed and airy a girl to care much for a broken heart, Narcissa showed a strange interest in mine. She would listen to me, talk to me, sometimes even give me a little advice. We came to share a peculiar friendship, as I’d mentioned before, and perhaps that is why I told her about Harry. She’s the only one who knows, unless she went and told that foolish husband of hers, and I doubt that. Lily…Yes, I’d loved her, but not like this. Nothing had ever been like this.

Perhaps that’s why I did it; threw common sense and logic to the wind and divulged my secret. Well, that and the alcohol. Merlin knows I wonder about Malfoy’s little drink. That’s wizard hospitality for you.

My confidant, it transpired, was extremely unsuspecting, and less then supportive.

 “Thi-this is a joke? You’re trying to…to trick me! Aren’t you Severus? You’re not serious? You _can’t_ be! You can’t honestly be shagging Harry-sodding-Potter!”

“Do you _know_ what **He’s** going to _do_ to you? Severus, do you realize what they’ll _do_ to you?”

“Are you insane? Out of your sodding mind?”

“D-disgusting! It’s disgusting! He looks like her. I don’t care what they say about his father, it’s his _mother_ you’re looking for, isn’t it? For Merlin’s sake Severus open your eyes! This has nothing to do with the boy, this is about Lily!”

But it’s not Lily Potter I’m fucking. It’s her son; her beautiful, messy-haired, knobby-kneed son. Narcissa said it was disgusting. She’s probably right.

Harry cries out beneath me, his hips beginning to jerk. Another wail and he comes, hot semen striking my stomach. He’s frozen like that just for a moment, then he relaxes and collapses back against the desk with a whimper. I stare down at the debauched child, chest flushed and semen dripping across his belly, and I come too. With an undignified shout I push myself as deep inside him as I can, then spend myself with wave upon wave of an orgasm so intense it’s almost pain. When at last I’m spent, and have recovered the use of my vision, I look down at my young lover and slip from his body. He’s gazing up at me, head cocked, a dreamy expression over his face.

“Well,” he whispers.

“Well,” I manage back. I bend down, hands on either side of the damn desk and kiss him. Enough. What a laugh! How could it ever be enough?

 

 

 

                                                        *

 

 

Distantly I hear Hermione’s voice, and some part of me is listening I guess. My hand idly drags ink across the page, hopefully relevant to the studying I’m doing in a desperate effort to placate my slighted friends (well, I should say friend…Ron doesn’t give a fuck, looks bored as all hell, but it makes Hermione happy when we study together and what makes her happy makes him happy these days). It seems to be working, because when I force my eyes to focus on my fuzzy haired friend she’s beaming. Chattering away and flipping through pages, her quill scratching away. I smile a little as I watch her, blathering and glancing about her materials, clearly as content as can be.

She feels my gaze after a moment.

“What is it?” she giggles. “What are you looking at, Harry?” 

“Nothing,” I try to look nonchalant, but my lips quirk again and betray me.

“What’s so funny?” She kicks me under the table gently.

“You’re a really good multitasker, that’s all. You can study, and talk with us and all that. You’re using maybe, half your brain and you’ll still get more than us out of it…Probably writing a third thing over there,” I say, waving my hands idly at her notes.

“Oh, am I distracting you? I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no, no,” I smile again, “not a bit.”         

            “Listen ‘mione,” Ron glances up from the giant tome she’d shoved on him. “you can’t possibly distract someone from studying. It’s more of a rescue.”

            Her face drops into a dry stare reserved almost exclusively for Ronald Weasley. Oh, she’s about to say,

            “Honestly Ron,” Yup, I knew it. “our exams, our FINAL EXAMS, are only two months away,”

            “Hermione, everyone knows the finals don’t matter a bloody jot. We’ve already taken our O.W.L.S-”

            “Oh so then we don’t need to worry about the rest of our academic career at all, do we? Now that we’ve done our O.W.L.S we might as well just put up the books and be done with the whole education thing…”

            Ron groans, head falling back against his chair as she carries on pertly.

            “Hey, hey you lot!”

            We all turn to see Ginny striding towards us, long gleaming hair swishing behind her. She plops unceremoniously on our table.

            “What it is, then?” She asks, looking over our things. “Up to something good?”

            “Not in the least.” I say.

            “We’re studying.” Run grunts at the same time.

            Ginny’s pretty nose curls up as she makes a face.

            “Sod it, let’s head to the dining hall early then.”

            Ron’s shoulders drop in relief and he leans back in his chair.

            “Sounds good to me.”

            Hermione sticks her nose in the air and begins gathering her parchments with dignity. “Well fine, be that way you useless things.” She kicks at us all under the table again and in a few happy minutes we’re all heading together out of Gryffindor tower and down the stairs.

“Can you believe about Neville?” Ginny asks to elicit a delighted gasp from Hermione.

“Oh yes, I just heard yesterday!” She says with a smile. “It’s completely wonderful!”

“What? What about Longbottom?”

“Honestly Ron, what sort of friend are you?”

He opens his mouth to defend himself, but Hermione continues.

“He’s staying on! Here in the castle! He’s going to serve a year apprenticeship with Professor Sprout!”

“Oh…well that’s actually really brilliant!”

“Of course it is! He’s so excellent at Herbology, and he wanted some more advanced work. Professor Sprout is keeping him as her protégée!”

“Wow,” I say, my brain already long gone and in the gutter. An apprenticeship….Oh the things I could learn about…potions. Potions of course! I smirk, but quickly hide it, trying to stay involved in the conversation. And not on dirty teacher fantasies about Severus….all alone in his dungeon…Woah there I go again! I blink and quickly turn my head back to my companions.

 “Oh, no doubt here,” Ginny was saying. “Padme and Patil are getting a flat this year, when I get out next year I’ll join them! I’ve been scouting some of the jobs in the area and with my O.W.L score I’m a shoo-in for some.”

“Whaaat?” I tease. “Not following in the family footsteps?”

“Which ones?”

“The joke shop for sure,” I say, elbowing her.

“You could work for the Ministry though,” says Ron, “I mean, with dad and the others.”

Ginny levels him a disparaging look and I laugh.

“Oh, but working for the Ministry could be a real delight!” Hermione says as she gracefully jumps the last step of our stairs and begins striding down the hall. “Just think of all the things you could do, all you could change!”

“Hermione, no one in the Ministry would ever hire you.” I say dryly, quickly meeting her surprised look with a smile. “You’d take over in a moment.”

She stuck her nose in the air playfully. “We could sure use a progressive Minister.”

“Yes but you’ve have to do more than champion the rights of House Elfs to win.”

She is giving Ron a withering look while he lovingly flings an arm over her shoulders. I smile a little to myself as I feel the bittersweet tug of watching them as she elbows him in the side and they both get lost in laughter. As we settle in line the conversation drifts away, and I let my mind go along with it as my friends begin discussing the upcoming match.

 

 

                                                      

                                                         *

 

 

 

The longer I stare at the words, the more determined I am that they will write themselves. I put down my quill irritably then glare at the parchment. This was all Severus’ fault, of course. Please don’t come to the misunderstanding that Severus stopped being Severus after we started sleeping together. For anyone who is imagining a love struck Slytherin running me bubble baths and bringing me roses, get a grip. Whatever relationship we’ve established, it’s not a terribly romantic one. He holds me tenderly enough, and I know that, _sometimes_ ¸ he’s trying (class this morning, by the way, was _not_ one of those times.)

But Severus is still so twisted, and awkward. A broken, tongue-tied, socially inept man trying to love an equally inept child. I’ve got him beat in a few venues of human interaction, (certainly sports, the dumb blighter can’t even ride a broom) but not a lot. Severus is rude, selfish, and thoughtless. He’s one of the bravest wizards I’ve ever met, but he’s also a coward. God knows he’s proud. He would stare down Voldemort before he’d apologize. He has no coping skills and is an extremely unethical teacher to boot. Hermione Granger has yet to receive a one hundred in his class.

And he yells. About everything. Some days I think that’s all he knows how to do, like some sort of primal instinct that he falls back on when cornered. Or angry, or uncomfortable, or scared, oh, _especially_ when he’s scared. Or, hell, I guess sometimes when he’s happy too…See my point?

I collapse against my desk and bury my head in my arms. This is ridiculous. Seven hundred damn words. For a damn essay. For a damn teacher. Because he’s a damn prick! I glare again at the page and imagine Severus’ face before tearing it up spitefully. I slump again over the desk, and my thoughts return to the same frustrating prick. He’s mad about something, there’s no doubt about _that_. You don’t give out seven hundred word essays on the healing materials of ocean water for knocking over a stupid vial of it. He’s angry at me and jumped at the chance for the confrontation I inadvertently started. I sigh, then drag another piece of parchment over.

But what on earth has him in such a foul mood? And why the hell won’t he just talk to me about it?

_And what would you do then, huh? If Severus just strode on over, took you aside tactfully and told you calmly that he felt that the two of you should address this little altercation. After all, you really ought to be more careful with the things you do, but it’s alright with him, and he understands, just wanted to make sure you knew. Communication’s the most important thing, really._

_Ah, shove it._ I told myself. Of course I wouldn’t be able to talk to Severus, I don’t know much about this sort of thing either. But I’d try. I’d try anything, but I suppose that’s the difference between us. I’ll work towards my success. I’ll go blundering madly against obstacles until by talent, or force, or stupid dumb luck I can break down the walls and I can move on. Severus would never dream of acting impulsively, he’d never even consider wandering out on a limb. He wants to sit back and evaluate, to prepare and to plan. He’d want to be confidant in his success before he’d put himself into any risk. Trust? Ha. 

Gryffindors versus Slytherins I guess. Severus isn’t going to expose himself, too much risk of being vulnerable. It’s all well and fine to live like that in some extreme survival situation, but it makes for a hell of a relationship. No, I don’t know what’s wrong, and I’m sure I’m going to go on not knowing until I can’t take anymore of his snipping and sniping and I’m going to snap, and I’m going to get so angry that I’ll start shouting and my face will get red. I’ll scream and his face will twist up into that horrible, ugly mask, and he’ll lunge at me and start screaming right back. We’ll stand there and bellow like idiots until one of us goes too far and after all the lines have been crossed and we’ve both been cut to shreds I’ll storm out or he’ll whisk to some far corner of the room and kick me out and we’ll be completely and totally furious at each other. Or end up shagging.

We go days on end, sometimes weeks, without talking. When things are broken we both just sit there, on other ends of the world. He goes out of his way to make every moment of class horrifically nasty and I sit there defiantly and I mouth off, or just stare right back at him and refuse to yield. Neither of us knows how to fix them. Severus doesn’t know how to _be_ sorry, none-the-less act sorry and I’m not totally without my pride. He steams, he sulks, my God does he stew. I think the blighter could sit in a rage for days and sustain himself on nothing but his fury. People think he’s heartless but they couldn’t be further from the truth. Severus has feelings, _lots_ of bloody feelings, and I assure you they’re all of the most violently passionate nature. I’m not sure that I know of anything that he just has moderate thoughts on.

Severus doesn’t dislike something; he loathes it and holds it in utter contempt. Severus doesn’t remember things; he dwells on every grudge and every petty offense until he’s given himself an ulcer that could burn through the castle walls. Severus doesn’t do joy though, in case you’re wondering. Good things don’t make Severus happy, they make him suspicious. As soon as Severus finds something he likes, he starts hording it from those who might take it from him. He starts waiting for it to disappoint him. He starts getting jealous of his lover and sits there on his stupid spot at the stupid faculty table and bends the stupid fork in his stupid hands because he can see said lover talking to another man. God forbid I have any friends who want to orchestrate a quick Quidditch practice.

If you think I’m exaggerating, why don’t you ask Henry? He failed his last potions exam.

 

 

 

 


	2. Next paaaaaart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small note of reminder, this isn't exactly....a chapter, and for those who notice how dsyfunctional it seems, just reread the first and know this picks up exactly where I left the last. (Its all just one big old document on my computer)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Fanfiction world!!! So! I have finally gotten over a four month writers block called college, and have, at long last, sat my ass down and patchworked together more of this story! To any and all who've been waiting, thank you so much for you patience and your time! It's really been so much fun to revisit my Snarry obsession!  
> Happy New Year World!!! Have some dicks!!!! >D

 

 

  

                                                                                                              *

 

 

             At this moment, I am a frustrated man. Potion brewing is an art, a fine skill crafted from years of honing one’s skills, and few can hope to become as proficient as I. A rare prodigy whose abundant skill and wanting social life found him slaving over books and cauldrons most of his school career. I am a master. A _master_.

          ….standing over a steaming, seething, burning mess. With a great heaving sigh of exasperation I push the heavy pot aside to a safe place where it can cool before I give it to some unlucky student to scour for detention. A Gryffindor if I have my way about it. With another great exhalation I fetch another, grumbling as I start a fire. I begin a new batch, slowly adding drops from different vials. It takes almost half an hour of careful, precise work, but it is mechanical, rote memorization. My mind is long gone, and when I pull away from the cauldron it is so I can sweep towards the far wall of the room.

           I lean into the stone, staring out the pane of glass, an odd luxury for my potion time. I usually brew in the dungeon, but this potion needs organic light, and I’ve moved my work into an empty room in a higher corridor. I can see large expanses of the Hogwarts ground, trees blowing softly in the wind. The clock strikes. It’s four. Four o’clock on this brilliant sunny day….it’s another match today. Still not against Slytherin. Gryffindors vs. Ravenclaws if I’m not mistaken. While I humor the thought of a stroll, I’ve got a potion I don’t want burning twice and with my well-known hatred for the sport it’s really only remotely discreet when I show up for matches with my own house. I move from the window, settling in a chair I’ve tucked in a corner.

            I stare at the bricks on the opposite wall, letting my gaze soften. I’ve been a knob to the boy. Well, arguably this isn’t an isolated incident, but….but this last time, lashing out at him in class…And over what? Because he’s going to a party? With a friends’ sister? I sigh again, feeling the terrible creep of shame, the sinking feeling that I get when I know I’ve erred. I’ve done a pretty good job of blocking it all my life, hiding my guilt with outlandish displays of self-righteous anger, or sneers, or a good sulk. But then, with Potter around it…it’s always been a bit harder….the sting, the long ignored sting of regret, more acute.

            Unwanted comes the memory of his face in class when I turned on him, barking at him and dressing him down before everyone, the surprise, the confused stare he tried to contain, trying to stay in character…all we ever seem to do around each other.

            They hadn’t even been rude, just talking amongst themselves before class started.

            “We’re gonna get the cup again this year,” Weasley had been saying as I opened the parchment and prepared to call roll, “you know we are.”

            “Ron,” Granger’s heavy sigh, so predictable.

             What was it about the voices of those three fucking children that always stood out so acutely? I always heard them in any setting, over any other noise.

            “It’s true, it will be all Gryffindor colors at the party! Oh yeah, mate! I’m glad you’re going with Gin, her sodding ex will be there, and if he says so much as one word to upset her again-”

          The quill squeezed viciously in my hand, and I froze. Did he see me I wonder, did he see my face as I, unable to resist, stared. For just half a second my gaze froze with my insides and I’d completely, openly stared at them, at him, before with a severe shake and a sharp cough I’d called attention to myself, and begun class…stomach still twisting. My head falls a bit as I wince in embarrassment. What had made me lose my temper? Made me behave so irrationally?

          After all, they’ll have a great time, they’ll eat, drink, dance…plenty of dancing. And who will think it strange? No stares, no judgement, no intrigue. Just a handsome young man and a beautiful young…girl…a girl….a beautiful young girl, just his age…just right for him. I twitch and try to shy from the thought.

         I see a flurry by my window, and watch as several owls swoop in and out of my vision. They’re the same dusky color as a certain large leather bound book in my chambers. Harry had gotten it for me for Christmas. I’d frozen, staring at the parcel awkwardly, …never known how to take gifts from him….or anyone really I suppose. Wasn’t something I had a lot of practice in. His face had been shining, his arms wrapped around his legs like a boy…He was a boy. Still is, really.  

         As I get lost in these thoughts, others come creeping along. I think of Albus, and our terrible labor of maintaining peace, maintaining some sort of lives for the students. The students….The end of the year is almost upon us and the seventh year ceremony this year will be a memorable one. If for no other reason than the world’s most famous teenager and his trio of good-dooers will be graduating….It’s hard to believe how long it’s been, impossible really, to think of how many years have passed since the rise and subsequent fall of The Dark Lord. His return had been a more quiet affair, at least until the night in the Ministry of Magic.

         Oh…the year I’d tried teaching Harry Potter Occlumency. That’d been a nightmare in and of itself. How I’d fussed and flustered before each lesson, how carefully I’d pried through my mind to hide away things in the Pensieve, always searching for that gnawing feeling, trying to pinpoint what it was I was afraid he’d discover. Suppose I could better isolate it now.

          I am rubbing my face, lost far away in my thoughts….when an aroma…terribly familiar, wafts to my noise. I close my eyes, inhaling softly and then I freeze. It...can’t be….It is. I leap to my feet and sweep back to my desk, waving my wand frantically and diminishing the fire, but it’s too late. The black smoke is billowing around me as I glare down in despair at the burning potion.

           I stare a long time at the seething, hideous, concoction, then lash a hand out to shove it from my sight. With a sigh my fingers go to the bridge of my nose as a loud clattering fills the air.

  

 

                                                          *

 

 

         Tired, sore, blood-racing, heart rate beginning to slow. All normal after a match. Bad mood after match, very uncharacteristic. My teammates all notice, giving me cautious looks and forgoing the usual punches and claps on the back. I’m keeping my eyes down on my boots, lost deep in thought as I remove my gloves and start shrugging out of my dirty uniform. With a heavy sigh, I rise to my feet, and I am walking to the showers. I don’t notice myself doing this, I’m on autopilot by now. I don’t even notice turning the water on, just know that I’m standing there, with the heat from the flow beginning to ease my stiff muscles. I’m so lost in thought that I’ve washed my hair and toweled off before I realize I’m walking back to the tower. By now I’m feeling the fatigue, the exhaustion beginning to creep through my body, and I think covetously of my bed.

         Things are really hitting the roof now. Graduation’s not far, trying to get ready for my final exams, this party thing. Hermione’s mad at me, Severus is mad at me, piss, I’m pretty sure Hedwig’s mad at me. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and it’s definitely not the Quidditch practice that is upsetting Severus (although I know that he watches sometimes because he complains that I’m an “absolute braggart” and says that “if you _really_ want to give the crowd a show why not just take your bloody shirt off and be done with it?” which is Severus for: I don’t like other people staring at you and if I had my way about it you’d be locked up in my quarters forever where only the bloody house elves can see you.)

          Fact is, I’m suspecting that it might actually be something a little more serious this time, i.e something that I might have conceivably said off handedly that he took in the worst possible way. I’ve given myself a headache thinking about all this, but what can I do? Severus is pissed about something, and I might as well figure it out before I go and make it worse. Still, would it be so much to ask for a goddamn note?

                       

 

 

                                                            *

 

 

 

        “Professor?” he purrs, “I’ve brought my assignment.”

        “What assignment?” I turn from him coldly, my nose in the air, but it’s too late. I can already feel it….heat beginning to spread through my body, a throbbing beginning in my veins.

        “The essay you asked me to write, you know over that bottle….just thought I’d deliver it….in person…”

       I’m refusing to look at him, so I am surprised when I feel a hand brush my cheek and then two skinny legs are stepping over me and the fucking brat has moved to sit in my lap.

       “It being _so_ important after all,” he whispers.

        I turn a stony gaze to him even as a treacherous hand inches up his leg.

       “Awfully bold move, coming here. Assuming that you can just flirt your way through all of your problems. Can’t just leave it alone, can you? Always have to have it your way, can’t…” He is kissing, so very slowly, my chin and the sharp line it forges up to my ear. “…stand…it…” Is it my pride, I wonder? Is it that horrible unyielding pride that causes me to embarrass myself like this? To get in pissing contests with a teenager…one who has again and again proven to be the bigger man. Here he is, coming to me after my irrational behavior, accepting my sarcastic unfair comments all to try and reconcile with me, to be back in the good graces he unfairly lost. Is it _because_ he tries?  Do I make him crawl on his hands and knees, because he will never give up, because he will come after me? Because he wants me enough to make peace with me?

         Perhaps I’m not a proud man but a narcissist.

        “Some problems are worth flirting through,” he whispers.

        I feel my heart squeeze, rushed with the embarrassed joy of Harry clearing the air and being back in my lap…and the shame of fogging it to begin with.

        Harry leans to kiss my ear and I collapse into the nape of his neck.

 _You idiot. You sodding damn idiot._ I look up at him as I berate myself.

        “Harry,” I say hoarsely. My hands convulse on his hips as he slowly, sensuously, brings his arms over my shoulder, and kisses me.

 

 

                                                                        *

 

 

           Well, I’ve got good news and bad news. I found Severus last night, and jumped his bones. He was mad alright, about something. It took a bit of coaxing, but, well, I’m pretty sure we cleared things up…As for the bad news…

          “Harry I can’t even believe this!”

         “’Mione I forgot! The big game, and everything else…”

          “‘Everything else?’ ‘Everything else’? And I suppose whatever it is was more important than us! I suppose that ‘everything else’ was why you forgot me last time as well!”

          "Hermione-”

           “Shut up!”

            I wince at that one, oh she’s angry. Snapping out at me, hair surrounding her red face like an angry miasma.

           “Now, Hermione,” Ron begins timidly. Holy hell, actually going to take my side? “It was only a little-”

           “It’s the principle!” She almost shrieks, bringing her angry, clenched little fists up. “I’m so tired of this! Harry, _why_?”

            “Hermione, I just…” My mind is racing, I’m in a corner, and now I’ve got to lie. I let out a deep, theatrical sigh, then hang my head in what I hope is appropriate remorse. “I’m sorry. I, I’m just sorry. I’ll tell you everything.”

            She stops, eyes slits, regarding me with her calculating face. Oh shit.

            “I’ve been sneaking out.”

            Ron peaks up, looking intrigued. Hermione doesn’t move.

            “Where?”

            “Out of the castle. Down onto the grounds. Sometimes as far as Hogsmeade. I just…” Think moron, think! “I just have been needing a lot of air, I guess.”

            “And you didn’t take us with you?” Her eyes haven’t moved, she’s still watching me and thinking. I hate it when Hermione thinks. It pretty much means you’re fucked. “Any of these times when you went ‘to get air’?”

            “I….I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk, I shouldn’t have been withdrawn, I just…I just…I needed alone time.”

            “You’ve had more than enough of that.” She snaps. “You’ve been alone almost all year. Wandering off, spacing out, never in bed on time.” I glare at Ron, who shrugs with a guilty wince. “You’re not sleeping right, you must be up all night, whatever you’re doing. You’ve got huge bags, you’re jumpy, and you don’t try in class! The only time you seem awake at all is in potions! And that’s only to mouth off to Professor Snape!” She pauses, and I can feel my stomach curling in on itself.

            _I’m doomed_.

            “This isn’t about alone time. What’s going on?”

            “Hermione, I…can’t-”

            “Can’t _what?_ ”

            “Please…I don’t want to talk…I just…”

            “Harry!”

            “Please-”

            “ _What are you running from?_ ” She cries, shaking her fists at me again. “You’re hiding something Harr-”

            “Leave ‘im alone Hermione.”

            We both turn in surprise to the third member of our group, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees. He’s staring intently at me, but then he turns his gaze up to Hermione.

            “Ron! He-”

            “I said leave him alone. He forgot your study session and that’s all there is to it.”

            “You know there is no way-”

            “He said he was sorry. Now let it go.”

            Her eyes narrow to darts, and her lips pinch up into a tight little line. She clenches her fist and her shoulders stiffen. Hell, I think her hair even floated up an inch. But she left me alone. Without another word, she turns her wrathful gaze from Ron and dashes from the room, eyes beginning to mist. Somewhere between guilt and awe I turn to Ron, but he only holds my gaze for a second, then he rises and, without a word, walks from the room.

            And so now I’m on the floor, flat on my back, staring at the high roof in our tower, hating the tears that drip silently from my cheeks. I can’t fight them, the silent little trickles, or the agonizing, twisting, miserable little knot clenching my insides. I stare aimlessly at the dark spires above me, feeling as horrible and alone as I can remember feeling in the last six years. I hate my weakness. I hate my pain. I hate myself. I hate the way Hermione looks when she’s about to cry, the pain I know is brimming through the anger. I hate Ron’s unconditional trust, the way he sticks his neck out for me, no matter what. I’m using them. I’m lying to them. I’ve been doing it for seven months. Because I love Severus.

            I turn my head then, as one quiet whimper escapes my mouth. It all comes crashing down on me as the silent tears trickle away. My heart jolts with that one, crystal clear thought I’ve finally allowed myself to voice. Even if it was only in my head. I love him, I love him so much my heart could break. That’s why I’m willing to do it, the lies, the sordid meetings, the secrecy. It’s not the sex, Jesus, I could get laid if I wanted to.

          That nauseas, twisting flutter becomes an agonizing vice hold on my insides as I lay prone on the hardwood. I don’t even have the strength to get up into my bed. With the waves of agony come memories, swirling thoughts of the last six years through my tattered mind. Hermione and Ron, in the good days when we’d laughed and schemed together, opening my Firebolt, rainy afternoons spent in Hagrid’s hut, the butterflies in my stomach when I first opened that small letter addressed to “ _Harry Potter, Cupboard Under the Stairs_.” My first view of the castle, my best Quidditch matches, Severus Snape whisking through the door into a small classroom full of huddled first years, Albus Dumbledore’s face after popping a vomit flavored bean into his mouth, my first kiss under the mistletoe in the Room of Requirements, my first real kiss pushed against a desk in my potions teacher’s office. The Triwizard Tournament, the basilisk, the Weasley twins turning the school upside, running for my life through the Forbidden Forest, Hermione sitting by my side for hours helping me study, Ron flying by my side for hours helping me practice for a big game, six years of Weasley sweaters…..

           Are you happy Hermione? I’m running alright. I’ve been running for months, and I don’t want to slow down. I hate what I’m doing, I hate my secret. I hate that my life has come to this. I hate the thought of my life without this school. I don’t _want_ to graduate, I don’t _want_ to leave. I don’t want it all to be over. The end of everything I’ve built, of the only real happiness I’ve found. My friends, my work, Quidditch, my school, my lover. My home.

            But what else can I do? I can’t stop time, so I’ve just been pretending it’s not moving, been avoiding these thoughts and this pain. I don’t know what to do when I leave, I don’t know how to keep lying to the world about the man I love but I don’t know how to go back to living without him. I don’t know how to bridge the gap I’m creating between me and the two people I want closest. _I don’t know what to do_.

            And so I just lay where I am and cry; the pathetic little Gryffindor.

           

                                                           

 

                                                            *

 

 

 

          The night is warm and clear, and the sky above us is striking. Stars are shining with an uncommon clarity, the moon is like a second sun lighting our way along the tall, lofty walkways of the castle.

          “There’s plenty of time left, Headmaster.”

          “Perhaps…but I do worry.”

          “Of course Albus, but the Order stands behind us and-” I realize I am walking alone, and that my wizened friend has stopped, staring with his infinite blue eyes away into the night.

          “That’s….what you’re worried about. Isn’t it?” The words are a revelation to me as I say them. The silence stretches on a moment too long for me, but before I can continue he speaks.

          “The Order of Phoenix has been compromised.”

          “What? I…ah, are you sure?”

          “No more than I am of anything…I suppose.” He removes his glasses and rubs them carefully on his robe, and suddenly Albus Dumbledore looks old to me.

          “Headmaster,” I say slowly.

          “Madeye Moody is dead.”

           I feel an icy wave rush over my stomach. 

           “…wh…when?”

           “Today…” He turns, hands clasped calmly behind his back as he looks up at the sky. “There was an attack on a group of The Order…Moody died protecting them.”

           “Headmaster…”

          “No one should have known their location, they were ambushed completely by surprise. We also believe an owl I sent may have been intercepted.”

          “Albus, I….”

          “I’ve sent Nymphadora into hiding.”

          “What?”

          “Nymphadora Tonks will soon be arriving at the castle, provided the escort a chose for her is reliable…I believe she might be a target.”

          “Why?” I watch him intensely, my head spinning.

          “That I’d like to ask her myself, once she is safely under my protection.”

          “Why didn’t you just say so?” I ask softly, sighing gently. “I’ll go. I’ll go be part of her escort. Get them here safely.”

           He is watching me with one of his unreadable faces, then it softens and the tired crinkles around his eyes tilt up in a small smile.

          “No Severus, I can not risk you too.”

          “But Headmaster,”

          “What if you were ambushed? What if another Deatheater saw you? I can’t lose my inside man, now can I?” He managed something of a smile but I looked away at that.

          “Not much of one, now that you mention it.” I say softly.

          “What, Severus?”

          I bring my gaze to him

         “I knew nothing. Nothing about this, Albus. I….has he stopped trusting me. Could he be suspicious?”

         Albus says nothing at first, but he smiles, tiredly, and puts a wizened hand to my sleeve. “I don’t want to lose another friend tonight, either.”

 

 

                                                       *

 

 

          Potions this morning is proving…difficult. To start with fatigue lengthens any morning, and my Friday morning class is always the worst. A gaggle of useless first year students are before me, anxious for their weekend to begin and antsy with the summer before them. It’s a gorgeous day, not that it can be noted from my dungeons, but I did step outside before breakfast (despite what that stupid boy thinks I DO make contact with sunlight) and the warm night before had warped into a beautiful fresh morning.

          They want to go enjoy it no doubt, silly fools. Run about outside and cause terror to all the poor old men like me. When my class is at last dismissed, I don’t even finish my sentence before the ear shattering clatter of nineteen children leaping to their feet and gathering their things is invading the air.

 _First years_ ….I stare with a dour scowl at the chittering ninnies before me, then sigh but my attention is caught by a figure in my doorway. I turn to see Minerva McGonagall who, upon getting my attention, invites herself in.

         “Severus,” she says gently. I raise my head, checking that the final little brat has made its’ way out. “I have a favor to ask.”

 

 

        Our pace is steady as we sweep together down the hall, students part around us as they hurry on to their next period or their breaks.

        “I understand the time constraint I’ve put you on.”

        “But doubt you care.”

        She turns at that, eyebrows raised, but finds my bland face and quirks the tiniest of smiles. I return one, probably equally as tiny, and she continues speaking.

        “The urgency calls for your attention, however.”

        “I’ve already told you yes, Minerva. You needn’t keep defending yourself.”

        She sighs a little, and I see the shadow of anxiety across her face.

        “Albus only told me this morning, the old fool!”

        “The Headmaster does have a way of imposing on his faculty….and he only told me last night, if it comforts you.”

        “He’ll be furious at me,” she’s reached out to the gargoyles that guard the headmaster’s chambers. “Lemon drops.” She says gently.

        “Oh, let him sulk,” I say idly, tilting a head as I watch the staircase spiral open. “If he’d told me everything himself it wouldn’t have been a problem.”

         We make our way up the winding stairs, but what awaits for me on the other side of the door is far worse than I expect. My stomach lurches and I feel Minerva’s instant, clutching, tension. She inhales sharply and her old fingers clench.

         “Albus.” Her voice betrays her stony calm as she sweeps across the threshold towards him. The headmaster is leaning forward onto his desk, but not in his usual jovial, cavalier manner. Rather, he’s braced against the surface as if it’s the only thing keeping him standing. His face is pale, far too pale, and his lips squeezed in a tight line that, with the delicate sheer of sweat over his brow, indicate very clearly to me pain. An assortment of his brick-a-bracks and strange items have fallen to the ground, the others lay spilled and haphazard around his pale hands.

        “Headmaster!” I join Minerva at his side, and he raises his ashy face to us. Again I am hit with it, the same feeling as last night, and I think for a fleeting moment how the greatest wizard of this century is three times my age. “Headmaster,” I say again after the moment of silence, “why didn’t you tell me? Why…” I trail off, unable to think.

        “Severus,” his voice isn’t shaking, or anything so dramatic…but it definitely comes out lacking in its normal warmth and mirth.

        “Headmaster if you were planning to go with them, if you knew that you needed my help why on earth didn’t you just ask? You could have told me last night.” _And you SHOULD have_. I finish in my head with a scowl.

        He is silent, I think to myself he probably wanted to defend himself, to say it wasn’t so bad…but he couldn’t. After a moment of strained silence Minerva and I both speak at once.

        “Albus,” she says earnestly, “it’s getting worse,”

        “I’m sure I can whip something together,”

        “You’ve been brewing for me all year.” He says with a tired, distracted shake of his head.

       “And clearly your condition is in need of more attention! I’d never have let up on your doses…how long have you been…What’s the pain like?” I say, at last getting an intelligent, useful thought out.

        He laughs dryly and I feel a cold knot in my stomach. It must be terrible…

        “I…I didn’t know it was…so acute.”

        “Well,” he says with a phantom of a smile. “It does seem to be giving me some trouble the last few days…”

        “Albus, please,” Minerva says severely, “you’re very ill!”

        He turns his stare to her, those infinite blue eyes, but after a moment of searching her he sighs. “I know,” He says softly. “I know, my friend.”

        A horrible silence falls among us, until I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath, and holding it a moment before doing what I always do. Doing what I must. I move forward.

        “Give me three hours.” I say as I rise to my feet.

        “Severus,” he begins, but I don’t take the time. I don’t turn back, I continue towards the door.

        “Three hours, Sir, it’s all I need. I’ll be back before you need to leave. Stay with him Minerva.” I say as I sweep away through the twirling stone passage.

 

 

 

                                                     *

 

 

 

           It’s been two weeks since our blowout in the common room, and there is no way I’m going to fuck this one up. I’m only going to my room to get a change of clothes, and then it’s off to Hagrid’s hut, where Hermione, Ron, and I have all agreed to help him plant something….Oh what the hell….she told me once, some sort of sentient, carnivorous plant that he’s wild about.

            It will be a long night no doubt, so instead of flinging myself into the fabulous, tempting folds of my bed, I change into some grungy old clothes and sneak some chocolate frogs from my bag. Two I eat, popping them into my mouth together, four more I stick in my pockets. After pulling on my trainers, I shuffle from my room and begin my trek to the Hogwarts grounds. My first step out the castle blasts me with glorious warm air and a sunny sky. I close my eyes at the top of the stairs then begin down them, stepping out into the lush landscape and beginning down to Hagrid’s hut.

            “Harry! Oy!! Harry!!”

            I turn and see a flash of luscious red hair.

            “Ginny,” I smile as she joins my side.

            “Where you off to?”

            “Going to go find Hermione and Ron. We’re helping Hagrid.”

            “Sounds….great,” she makes a funny face, raising an eyebrow and wrinkling her nose.     

            I laughed a little and then her skinny arm weaves through mine and she leans her head on my shoulder.

           “Hey, Harry,” she says gently.

           “Mmm?” I look down at her and slow my walking.

           “I’ll miss you.”

           We share a stare a moment, then I brush a lock of hair from her pretty face.

           “I’ll miss everyone. It’s so strange…being a year behind.”

           My lips twist to the side ruefully. God I’m useless….

           “I know,” is all I manage, gently rubbing her arm in a way I hope is encouraging. “I know it feels weird…feels weird for me too!”

           “I bet…I’m the last one,” she smiles a bit. “The last Weasley here…This castle will feel so strange without you guys…” She looks sad again, and my arms are wrapping around her as I pull her into a tight hug.

            “Hey,” I say gently, “where’d all this come from, eh?”

            “No where I guess….everywhere…” She sighs and flops against me. I sigh too, and settle my chin on the top of her head. “It will be alright Gin, you’ll see.” My hands on her elbows, I pull back so I can peer down in her face and smile. “We’re not going to be fine, we’re going to be great.”

           

 

            Hermione and Ron are already there by the time I arrive, weeding out an area under Hagrid’s window while he blusters around and babbles. Hermione looks up as I join them, a big smile stretching across her pretty face.   

            “Harry!” she says warmly, handing me a little shovel as I settle down next to Ron.

            “You guys got here quick enough.”

            “Came right after the match,” Ron informs me, jerking a plant from the dirt. “You were brilliant, by the way.”

            I shrug, then turn my attention to Fang, who has been hovering by me and desperately nuzzling my pants since I arrived.

            “Oh,” I grin, “I think I know what this is about.” Digging through the pocket I retrieve my chocolate frogs and Fang drops a huge line of drool onto my jeans. “Is this what you’re looking for buddy?”

            He whines and I toss two over to Hermione and Ron.

            “Won’t exactly cover for dinner….but I figured what the hell.”

            Hermione smiles again, Ron’s is already half gone.

            “Lucky for you I brought an extra.” I say, putting my nose up against Fang’s wet one, smiling at the huge, harmless dog. I flick him another frog, and set the last aside for Hagrid. I doubt he’s going to eat it, but I still felt the irrational urge to try.

            We work in comfortable silence a few more minutes, before a shadow descends over us and I look up at the happy face of my huge friend.

            “How’s it going you lot?” He asks gruffly, setting down a tray with three tankards.          

            “Oh, quite well Hagrid! We’re almost done clearing out the area, then we can break up the dirt and see about your new pets.” Hermione rocked back onto her ankles and reached bravely for her drink. Fang has made his way over to Ron, and is now drooling happily on his leg as Ron absently pets him.

            “Well you’re gonna love ‘em!” He says enthusiastically, settling down next to us. “Bought fair and square too, they are.”

            I smile, and glance at Ron from the corner of my eye. He gives me a doubtful stare, then turns his suspicions on Hagrid.

            “Right….And you’re _sure_ they don’t eat humans, right? I mean, you are _positive_ about that?”

            “Absolutely! Professor Dumbledore would never ‘ave let me get ‘em if they was gonna eat students.” Hagrid chuckled, as if Ron’s concern was the silliest thing he’d ever heard of.

            “But they do eat meat.” Ron says, rubbing his hand affectionately over Fang’s big floppy ears.

            “Well, yeah. I’ll throw ‘em steak.”

            “How do you think they know the difference Hagrid?” I ask curiously, imagining the half giant wearing an apron and frying steak for his pets.

            “Oh, they know. Couldn’t eat a human. We’re way too big and they don’t wanna get chopped. It’s little animals they’re after. Rats, birds, cats, you know. Maybe dogs, if they grow up real big…”

            We talked for another few minutes, all of us sitting together and laughing and I feel a small, creeping sadness begin waffling its way through my stomach. Oh sod….I pause in my talking, the smile fading from my face as I listen to the laughter of my friends. I shake my head, throwing the insidious sadness, away as I drag myself back. Hagrid is talking animatedly, approaching us with a huge hand holding the stalk of a plant, and the other hand underneath its pot. The top of the long green stem is a wiggling red bulb. Ron and I exchange looks.

            “There they are, beautiful ain’t they?” Hagrid beams, setting down the pot and staring down at the weird wiggling bulbs with an almost motherly pride. “Hang on their little fella, lemme go get yer friends!”

            As Hagrid happily shuffles off, the three of us cautiously gather around the pot.

            “What do you think?” I whisper.

            “Not so bad! I guess. I mean, it looks alright, for a flesh eating dandelion.”

            “I don’t know, Ron,” Hermione says in the same whisper. “I’ve read about these, they can be quite vicious.”

            “How do you suppose it sees or smells and all that?”

            We all stare at the perfectly smooth round head.

            “I don’t know,” she admits, “I’ve never seen one before.” She’s taken a few steps closer, head cocked so all her fluffy hair falls over her shoulder. Ron’s staring at her like he’s been hit by a charm, and I can’t help but smile. She peers intently at the wiggling plant, but then Hagrid comes hurrying around to us carrying another pot, and soon we have four plants, all with the same round bulbs and all making the same creepy hissing sound.

            Hagrid looks ready to explode with joy, so when he looks at us all eagerly and asks, “Are you ready?” we all dredge up some fake smiles and chorus a big “Of course!” The following hour might have been one of the longest of my year. You might think that blasting a few holes in the ground and potting some plants wouldn’t be so bad, especially with magic, and, as far as that goes, you’d be right. Digging holes, definitely no big deal. Getting the damn plants out of their pots, whole ‘nother story. Turns out that during this stage in their life, these little creatures are extremely weak, and just the stress of replanting can kill them. Hagrid refused to let us use magic to remove them from their pots, worried that even Hermione might slash one of their roots, which are extremely tender until they’re five years old. After a long day, and a long Quidditch match, I found myself squatting on the ground with a giant pair of shears, carefully cutting away the pots piece by delicate piece, the entire time trying to ignore the red bulbs that bopped me on the head, and the mosquitoes whining in my ear.

            It took almost twenty minutes to cut away the special burlap pots that Hagrid had fashioned for them, and then the other two came to help me so the three of us could shuffle over to the waiting hole, and set Hagrid’s plant inside of it with surgical caution. Then, as they went back to their pots, I sat and slowly shoveled the special dirt Hagrid had ready over the hissing, flailing plant. We repeat this process twice, once for my plant, once for Hermione’s, and then we go to help move Ron’s, and that’s when everything goes wrong. I crouch down to grab the dirt, careful so as not to crumble it from its shape, as Hermione and Ron grab the wiggling stalk. The three of us hoist the creature up, and I begin a funny crabwalk backwards to reach the waiting hole.

            Now, you should know that Fang only naps in the worst possible places, the sort of place that is so hopelessly in the way and under foot that you can’t help but wonder if he does it on purpose. Like on the last step of the stairs, or right in front of the oven when you’re baking something that must be constantly checked. Or maybe right behind someone who’s trying to carry a dangerous potted plant backwards. My heel comes down on a big floppy ear, and with a howl and a jerk, Fang jumps to his feet.        

            “Gah! Fang!” I cry, losing my balance and stumbling back. The plant jerks in our grip as I lurch back.

            “Harry!” As if in mental unison, Hermione reaches to steady me while Ron reaches for the plant.

            “Oy!” He cries. Quidditch honed reflexes take over, and my hand flies out to catch myself, even as I feel the corner of the dirt crumble in my hand. Hermione’s got my other arm, and just as my brain is registering that I’m ok and that I’ve more or less caught myself, I hear Ron’s scream.

            My head snaps around as Hermione screams “RON!” and drops my arm. His shout of pain still sounding through the air I flip over onto my knees and half stumble, half crawl in his direction. Hermione is there first, then Hagrid’s door is flying open and we’ll all rushing to him. Hermione lets out another gasp of surprise and Hagrid’s giant arms are out towards him by the time I see the blood pouring down his forearm. Attached to his hand is the plant, whose entire red bulb has opened down the center, revealing five hideous rows of teeth currently sunk into the flesh of my best mate’s hand.

            “Ron!” I cry belatedly, feeling a terrible cold shock spreading through me. “Bloody hell, Ron!”

            Hagrid is making a strange guttural sound, then he has Ron in one arm, and a giant hand is clasping over the long green stalk of his horrible pet. He clutches it like iron and with a brutal jerk has severed the red bulb from the plant. The broken green stalk begins rapidly gushing sap onto the ground as it gives a few final death throws before falling limp. Hagrid’s face is pale, and I see a frightening, dark streak of anger, growing. He reaches two massive hands to the lips of the plant and begins pulling them apart. Screeching and half dead the bulb still has a bloody fierce grip, but it’s not match for the wrathful giant. He rips its mouth open, and then keeps ripping. With a strange, wet, shredding sound, the bulb is in two pieces and falling to the ground. Then he turns on the remaining stalk. Ron is pale, shaky, and watching Hagrid brutalize the plant with the shovel spade.

            “Sodding dandelions.”

 

           

            We’re all sitting around Ron’s bed, Hermione’s chair pressed right up against his mattress.

            “Really I’m fine now,” he is saying, looking somewhat exasperated and embarrassed by the weeping giant standing by him. “You don’t have to worry anymore Hagrid.”

            “We’ve all been through much worse,” Hermione says gently, putting a hand on Hagrid’s quivering arm.

            “It went down to ‘is bone!” Hagrid blubbed. “Almost severed your pinky right off!”

            “Hello, we’re wizards.” Ron uses his good arm to give Hagrid a friendly punch. His mood sure is improved since the pain medicine. “Madam Pomfrey will have this fixed in no time.”

            Hagrid doesn’t seem consoled, but soon our school nurse is bustling her way around Ron and aggressively shoo-ing us away.

 

 

            In the end it was a simple fix, after all Madam Pomfrey had certainly seen worse from us, but to be certain that the plant’s toxins didn’t cause any complications, she did insist he stay under her supervision briefly. Today is the second day of this, and I am continuing to live like a satellite. Wandering down the halls alone, sitting alone in class, reaching the end of the day and realizing what I do next is solely up to me. After all, with Ron and Hermione (who, despite the relative simplicity of the wound, insisted on staying with Ron at almost all times, dutifully keeping him up in his classes and studies) confined to the hospital wing I was left without any real accountability…or companionship. I have other friends, sure, but not the kind who asked questions, not the kind who won’t start eating until I arrive in the hall. Earlier just this morning, as I left class, Hermione had given me a hug, then whisked away to the hospital wing, and I had gone up to the tower alone. My room empty, I had gathered a handful of my things, donned my cloak, then whisked away out the portrait and down the stairs.

             I make my way down to where I’d spent the majority of yesterday as well, and with a few careful turns and long sprawling hallways, Severus is nonchalantly opening his door and leaving it open just a moment. Just long enough for an invisible form to sneak in. He spends another moment outside his chambers, maintain his pretense at glaring down the hallway looking for some annoying sound, and then we are inside. He is at his cauldron at work while I sit with my back against one of his large resting chairs, my homework sprawled across his floor.

            “So then, basically Ginny says she’ll be staying on here, you know, for another year of course, but she’s hoping she can get a job like Neville.”

            “Yes, I’d heard about Longbottom.” He is carefully pouring liquid from a ladle.

            “Is it common? Students staying on?”

            “Well….perhaps not… _common_. After all this is the largest institution of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Britain…that’s quite a few children to be taking on. But certainly there are apprenticeships available.”

            “I bet this is the best place to do it.”

            “It’s a lot of time and work. Being an adjunct here is difficult. Spending so much time at the beck and call of--” he pauses, sensing my mirth and looking up from his work. He sees the provocative face I’m making and responds with a dry, stale stare.

            I smirk. “Sir, I’ve suddenly developed a keen interest in the fine art of potion making.”

            He quirks a skinny eyebrow and I burst into laughter.

            “Oh come on, you know you need an assistant.”

            “‘Assistant’ implies assistance….this means someone who is of use. To my craft.”

            “Oh come on!” I say with a deep, tired laugh. “I’m not THAT bad at potions.”

            He returns the stale face at me, and I turn back to my work, that stupid grin stuck on my face. It’s difficult to explain, you have to really, really, _really_ know Severus to appreciate his humor, but sometimes he can get me like no other. It’s always a surprise comment, or an unexpected quip perfectly timed, and always with that dead straight face. I dip my quill and go on scribbling, humoring myself with thoughts about a long summer spent down in the dungeon on an ‘internship’ with the potions master of Hogwarts...

           “It’s strange,” he says suddenly into the silence.

           “Mmm?” I look up.

           “Having you here.” His stare goes on just a mooooment too long to be casual, and I feel a warmth creeping through me as it becomes gentle. He recovers from this unforgivable display of (completely adorable, don’t tell him I said it) affection with a quirk of his eyebrow and a nonchalant shrug as he returns to bottling. “With your clothes on, that is.”

             I hold back the smile. “Yeah, kinda weird not having to rush anywhere, or to anyone. Ron was always the one who’d really notice, or question if I was gone, and with him in the hospital wing everyone assumes I’m out late visiting him.”

             “How sad for him then,” Severus says dryly, “to think you’re really leaving him lonely so you can study in dungeons-”

            “He’s not lonely.” I roll my eyes. “I visited him all morning, and Hermione spends every waking moment in his room with him, so I doubt he misses me.”

           “And how are the two lovebirds?” He asks idly, squinting intently at his measurements.

           “Oh they’re hopeless.” I smile a bit while I blow on the ink. “They still haven’t come out and said anything.”

           “I suppose the two of them will eventually come to terms with it…Mustn’t let the Weasley gingers die out.”

           “Well,” I smile, and rub my dry eyes, “we’ll see soon enough.” I’m aware of him watching me as I gather up my things, then he sighs and moves to follow me. At the door I turn, craning up for a kiss. His hand comes to my cheek, and he dives into my mouth. Having expected a goodnight peck, I’m delighted and throw my arms around his neck. I keep them there even after our lips break apart, looking up at him with a goofy grin I’m trying to hide. He smirks, kisses me quickly again, but then our happy moment, the simple stare, changes. It starts in his face, but I know it’s mirrored in mine in a moment. His eyes take on a small sadness, an uncertainty, and his hands tighten their hold on me ever so faintly.

 _Just a little longer_. I think, staring up at Severus.

           And then suddenly we don’t feel nearly as close, and his smirk fades, just the tiniest bit and I know he’s thinking the same. We stare at one another a moment longer, then he smiles awkwardly and gives me a bit of a shove.

            “Go on then,” he says, “before your precious trio dissolves.”

            I give him a strained smile back, shoulder my bag and slip out into the hall.

 

 

 

                                                                        *

 

 

 

            “Ohhhhh, Severuuuuuuus!” I sing as I swing through the passage that leads between his study and his bedchambers. “Severuuuuus?”

            The voice that came back to me wasn’t exactly laughing…but there was almost a breath of mirth in the response.

            “Potter, what the living hell are you doing?” Severus emerges from his chambers, but his stale face can’t hide the contentment, and I feel an almost embarrassing surge of excitement. With a strong inhale I step forward, opening my mouth to begin a long stream of prattle, my day, my plans, my work for the night…when I drop my satchel too abruptly. I hadn’t been thinking, just put it aside on his desk, a bit carelessly I suppose in my haste to close the distance between us. The sound of shattering glass fills the air, and at first I don’t think much of this (hell we do more than that in foreplay) but Severus’s eyes widen and he lunges forward. His outstretched hand is utterly futile, the bottle has fallen and its contents exploded before he can even sink to the floor…but he does anyway, a long expanse of black and a quiet fluttering sound and he’s down on his knees. His long fingered hands make a few useless reaches in midair and he raises the broken shard of the stopper, before letting it fall again with a ‘clink.’

            “No…” His eyes close and for a fraction of a second he freezes, taking a breath and regaining composure, putting back on his mask. But it’s too late....I see how bothered he is…Oh, that potion must have been really important. I feel a wave of guilt, my fingers going to twist together as I watch him slowly, with dignity, rise to his feet.

            “I…I am so sorry,” I begin.

            “Tchh!” The sound comes out harsher than perhaps he meant, but accompanied with the tense face it wounds and I wince.

            “Severus,”

            “Stop it, Potter,” he’s turned his back on me, but I can see a hand run across his chin, a sure fire tell. I cast my eyes to the floor and the shards of glass he’s left sitting there. Severus begins whisking about, gathering things.

            “I…

            “Just…” He sighs and then he’s moving, opening cabinets, grabbing bottles, moving with intensity and precision.

            “Oh…um, fixing it now then? I reckon-”

            “He needs it now.” His says, eyes remaining focused.

            “Who…who needs it? What was it? Is there…I mean I suppose there’s nothing…Blimey, I’m awful sorry.”

            He doesn’t answer, but he is intensely focused on his work of remaking whatever it was.  I stand awkwardly a moment, like some buffoon, then I turn to the remainder on the floor.

            “Don’t touch that.” He doesn’t…bark per se….but I look up, a confused scowl on my face.

            “Severus I’ve cleaned up loads of your-”

            “Harry it’s not important now, I just-”

            “I said I was sorry, Severus, and I am, I really am, but what on earth-”

            “I have to re brew this now, if I hurry I can still bring it to Albus for the evening. He’s due for a dose.”

            “Oh…it’s for Dumbledore, eh? Wow, I guess I’m a total git now, huh?” He doesn’t respond to my pathetic attempt at lightening the situation, and I am really becoming concerned now…I am…a total arse….I take a deep breath.

            “Ok, what can I do?”

            “Nothing.”

            “I can’t help at all?”

            “No, I-”

            “Can I get any ingredients for you? Go…go fetch you something!”

            “ _No_ Potter, there’s no time!”

            “I SAID I was sorry, and I can’t un-break the damn thing, but if you want me to just go sit in the corner with my thumb up my arse-”

            “There’s no time!” He shouts. I’m startled and I stagger back. “Just go! I have to work! If you can’t get the bloody hell out of the way just go!”

          “I…Ah-” I start stammering madly, my heart pounding as I stand in horror at his outburst.

          “He’s sick, Potter! He’s sick and I _have_ _to fix **this**_.”  

          “Wh-what…What?! Oh God,” My heart has stilled the way it does when I am shocked, or scared, and then it returns with a vengeful beat. Severus takes another ragged breath, then he turns from me and his fingers go to the bridge of his nose.

 

          “Why…what does he have…I mean, how…” He nods grimly as I fall silent, slowly taking a few small steps to be at his side. “It’s serious…isn’t it?”

           He doesn’t answer, but he makes a motion that’s half a blink, half a nod.

           “Of course it is….it’d have to be the way you’re carrying on…” I turn to look up at him, giving him a bewildered stare as he hurriedly chops some long twisted plant. “Severus, why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

           “What?”

           “About Dumbledore!

           “Why on earth would I have?”

           “Wha-because it’s important! Severus this is-”

           “Wantonly inappropriate! Why would the personal life of the headmaster be _any_ concern of yours? You’re a student.” His voice is cold and clipped, detached. I stare up at his face and see him looking down his nose at me. I feel a hot rush of embarrassment and indignation as he turns and sweeps towards his cauldron to drop some things inside it.

            “I am your LOVER.” My voice comes out louder than I mean too…and I know it’s too late. We’re gonna have a row, a real one. I warned you all, didn’t I?

            “Who is a _student_.” He snarls back, face darkening, taking on that twisted, hateful, angry look. “You have no business in the Headmaster’s affairs, you’ve no business in mine!”

            “No busi-You!” I shout. “Fine! Fine! You stupid twisted stuck-up fuck!” My fists are tight, twisted knots.

            He sweeps in, getting too close to me, and I see he’s trembling…I know that he’s more upset than angry, I know he’s in pain. It takes a bit of the sting from my anger, makes me, for just a moment, more miserable than I am furious….then he opens his mouth.

            “You think that you own me now? That by seducing me you’ve buried your hooks into my life and can just come barreling in-”

            “Severus!”

           “You are, without a doubt, the most self-centered, selfish, egotistical, narcissistic child who has EVER even BREATHED on this planet! If there’s a letter, it must be addressed to _you_! If there is a secret, it must be discovered by you and your trio of saviors! If there’s door, oh it must be opened, never mind the fact it just _could_ be locked for a REASON!”

            “What. Is. _Wrong_. With. YOU? What is wrong with you?” My voice cracks as I wring my hands in the air. “You _lunatic_!!! You can’t talk to people like this!! You can’t be such a goddamn PRICK all the time!”

            He scoffs, turning from me but I’m right there in front of him again.

           “Do you have any idea what it’s like for me? Trying to be with you? Do you have any clue what I go through? Well forgive the living _fuck_ out of me, Severus!” I shout, flinging my arm in the air and rolling my eyes. “God knows that being _worried_ about someone I care for-”

            “Did it occur to you that Albus wanted some privacy-”

            “Privacy? Privacy? I’m not asking you to write an editorial for the goddamn post, Severus, I just thought you might bother considering to talk to me about-”

            “You-you-you-YOU! Me, I, myself! The great concerns of the Boy-Who-Lived! Oh yes, for god’s sake, let’s worry more about how this affects YOU! Let’s spend more of the people of Great Britain’s time worrying about Harry-Fucking-POTTER! Yes, yes let’s, because after all, you’re the _only person in this ENTIRE GOD DAMN COUNTRY_ with problems!” He punctuated each of those last burning, cruel words with a slam of his hand on his table, taking in deep, ragged breaths as he finished.

            I stood trembling, staring at him.

            “You fucking knob!” I breathe, then my eyes narrow and my voice rises. “You vindictive, selfish, cowardly, **_bastard_** -” I turn from him, angrily grabbing the scrolls I’d carried down, then snatching my satchel and flinging it violently onto my own shoulder.

            “Get out!” He snarls, lunging after me with his twisted wrathful face.

            “Selfish, heartless, _cruel_ bastard!!!!” I turn back at the door way so I can shout, projecting through the gurgle in my throat that heralds the coming tears.    

            “GET OUT!” He bellows, his voice ringing throughout the cold stone chamber as I fling open the door and dash away.

           

 

                                                                        *

 

 

            I am running down the halls of the castle, red faced and eyes brimming with furious tears. My heart is pounding, my stomach is sick, my hands are shaking. I don’t make it far, I just barrel through the passage before me weaving and pushing past other students, some of whom stop to whisper and look after me. I don’t have time for them, I don’t have time for anything. I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I can only run. Run, run, run…I skid to a stop and turn a corner, clutching the post to guide me around. I stagger down this new path until I reach a partially open door before me. I’m in and have pulled it shut before my brain has even registered I’ve stopped running. Door closed, I collapse; knees, all fours, elbows, face first on the floor. I scream, then I beat my fists, then I scream again…then I weep. The second time in as many weeks.

  

 

            My heart is heavy as I amble through the castle to the medic hall, and my eyes are dry and aching. I’ve got my ratty, disheveled satchel, and my misery but as I approach Ron’s bed, my whirlwind of self-pity is gone in a moment. I stop walking, and my mouth parts as I take in the scene, blinking rapidly as my mind catches up to my eyes. Hermione’s chair is empty, instead her tiny backside is settled on the edge of his bed, hand entwined with his as their bodies are leaning together. Hermione notices me first, and gives me an embarrassed but unapologetic smile. Ron shrugs happily, as if to say “Well, there you go mate,” and I cock my head with my best shocked and judgmental face. As the huge smile sneaks across my face we all burst into laughter, and I run to them, jumping onto the bed too.

            Having still not said a word, we’ve said everything, and I can feel the tiniest of tears welling in my eyes as I settle on my spot at the bottom of the bed. Hermione is bright pink and can’t stop laughing, clinging on to Ron’s hand like a vice. Ron looks nauseously happy, and I end up spending almost an hour with them, laying there and goofing off like the prats we are. Hermione’s bag is full of chocolate, and we share them until we’re queasy.

            “So who was it,” I ask after a while, “who finally broke down and said it?”

             They exchange smiles and Hermione’s hand gives his another tiny squeeze.

            “You know what mate,” Ron says “I don’t even know.”

            “Oh for….it’s been what an hour?” We’re all laughing again, it’s hard to explain when you’re in a situation so happy and comfortable. Like being at a wedding, or a birthday. Everything seems worth laughing or shouting.

            “Harry, it’s just,” Hermione pauses, and they look at each other again before she brings her peaceful, shining face back to me.

            “It was both of us, I guess.” Ron chimes in.

            “It’s just that we really….really didn’t want to let anything else slip by us. Everything….it’s all happened so fast.    

            “Don’t have any more time to waste.” He says quietly staring right into her eyes. She breaks their gaze and returns her attention to me.

            “It’s so short, time. I mean, don’t you feel it? It’s like…it’s like since the moment I saw you two on the Hogwarts express everything just flew by….and now we’re here! When we became friends… It felt infinite. Like we’d always been, and always would be.”

            “Well you were right about that,” I reach out and take her free hand. She’s almost tearful, we all are, feeling the bond we’d shared for so long. We’ve been through so much, almost lost each other many times. Yet, as she said, we’re still here. Still together.

            “No matter how long you live, no matter how much you do, it’s hard not to think about how short time really is. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” I smile to the side, lost in that strange, happy, infinite moment. “Yeah…I, I do.”       

            “So here’s to figuring it out young, huh?” Ron says with a bit of irony. “We’re all graduating, and maybe the world is gonna keep moving…”

            “Let it.” Hermione says bluntly, squeezing both our hands. “Just let it try.”

            “We aren’t ever getting old!” I say in an exaggerated trembling voice. I never have been good at impersonations….my old man needs some work. They both laugh though, maybe just because I’m a drip.             

            “Love is the point, isn’t it?” Hermione says softly. “The reason to go and get old.”

I suddenly am aware of my heart rate, starting to increase, and a tiny, nervous twirl in my stomach…I’m thinking of him, it’s surfacing so fast…

            Ron’s hand closes over hers, eyes unfocused. “It won’t be so bad,” he says.

_Love…._

            “It doesn’t matter about the details, because we have each other, just one more day.”

 _Love_.

            “We’ve…lost a lot,” Ron’s face clouds, but his hand’s tight over hers and he leans his leg into me, “but we can only live in the now right?”

I rise, and they look up at me, still clinging to each other and still seeming so perfect.

           “I think I know exactly what you guys mean…and there’s something I have to go do.”

           They exchange glances, but then Hermione gives me a gentle, unreadable smile and she says,

          “Then you’d better go hurry.”

 

            I was torn, as I had grabbed up my things and flown from the hospital wing. There was a part of me that missed my friends, a part of me that felt bereft leaving them and our fun times, but there was another part of me, and the problem was that it was much, much stronger.

_Love him. I LOVE him._

My brisk pace gives way to hurrying, to jogging, to running. I feel it again, that same squeezing, gnawing, heart-pounding overflow of passions as the day I’d collapsed in my room. But this time I’m not on the floor crying, I’m running, moving forward. It’s not crippling me; it’s surging through me, pounding through me like my footsteps reverberating down the halls

            _I love Severus, and it doesn’t matter about the details. Nothing matters._

 

 

 

                                                                        *

 

 

            “Severus! Severus!!”

            My hurried footsteps have become dashes, and I am now sprinting to my door. My heart is pounding and my hand is flying to my wand.

“Severus open the door!”

His knocking is urgent, and I fling open the door half expecting to fight a dozen death eaters off to protect him….but it is only Harry Potter, messy haired and glossy eyed, breathless with pink cheeks.

            “Potter! Potter what the living hell-”

            “Severus!” His voice is low, “Severus I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry!”

            “Wha-”

            “I don’t care anymore about the potion or-or anything. I don’t want to fight! You were right, it’s-it’s none of my business. You don’t owe me an explanation for everything going on in your life just keep me in it! We don’t have any time, we can’t waste-we can’t waste this!” As the hurried, breathless words continue pouring from his mouth like a strangled strand of consciousness, he turns hopelessly earnest and intense eyes up at me.

            “Kiss me.” He almost whispers, grabbing my cloak and staring up at me. “Severus please kiss me.”

            “Harry!” I manage through my shock and confusion, “Listen to yourself! You’re standing in the bloody-”

            He lunges, grabbing my hand from the air, but he doesn’t use it to pull me out of his way, or touch himself or any of the other crazed things that flash through my mind in that strange moment. Instead he puts it on his heart. He lays my hand against his chest, his two hands draped softly over it, and I can feel the frantic pound through his body and into my palm. I still and our eyes meet.

“Please Severus, step aside,” he says in a breathy whisper.  “Let me in Severus, please. Please.”

            I stare down at him, frozen with my hand in the center of his warm chest and my eyes captured utterly by his, and then I step away from the door

 

 

 

                                                                        *

 

 

           “Severus…” The whisper escapes my lips, barely more than an exhalation into the darkness. “Severus.” I can hear him breathing, but I can only make out an outline above me. There’s nothing but a few candles, and us. Me and my lover and this night. My hands find his hair; his greasy, pitch black hair, and I guide his face to mine. He stills against our kiss, perhaps surprised by my tenderness in a time usually filled with my frantic, embarrassing begging. The kiss stretches on, but instead of pulling away, he moans faintly, and rises to his knees, pulling me against him. One hand cups the back of my head, the other runs maddeningly light fingertips over my burning skin. My hands are still running through his hair, pulling him in, deeper and deeper, both of us tumbling back until I’m pinned down. I’m lost for a moment in that simple intimacy, in such a long, deep kiss. The soft mattress cradling me, Severus’s warmth surrounding me…

            I moan, and shift underneath him, rubbing my aching hardness against his hip, forcing another groan from my lips. He gasps too, then his gentleness is gone and his hands are on my wrists like vices, pinning my arms down and he shifts to straddle my hips. I groan again, and then, with a sloppy ‘pop’ and a quiet gasp from me, our kiss is broken and Severus is pulling back. He looms over me, squeezing my body with his thighs, and my arms with his hands, his hair hanging down just an inch from me.

            I’m still not sure why, but I smile. I smile up at him shyly, and something just happens. I suppose it started with that long, _awesome_ kiss. Or maybe it started when he had reached out to me, an almost bewildered look on his face, and tenderly, purposefully, embraced me in his study. When we’d begun kissing like our lives depended on it…or on each other. Who knew which was which anymore. I’d ended up on his desk, shaking like a leaf as, after those long minutes of desperate, loving kisses, he’d sunk down to his knees and pushed mine apart. The sound of my zipper had filled the room and sent a shudder down my spine as he freed my aching erection.

            Severus’s hot mouth on me, the erratic vibrations of his moans around my cock. His moans…My fingers had fisted through his hair my groans and labored breathing surrounding us. He’s sucked me until I’d screamed and come in his mouth. Hot and shuddering I’d watched him swallow and then rise, piercing me with glowing, hungry eyes. I’d stared back at him, panting, hands clutching the hard wooden surface.

             Everything slows down and anything that happened before this moment is wiped from my mind as Severus stretches out over me, long, languid movements, hands casually running up my sides to settle on my face. We’re kissing more; long, deep, honest kisses, not the usually hungry, frantic imprints we leave on each other’s faces. His voice has gone lower than usual, his moans are quiet, almost thoughtful, and I for one can hardly make a sound at all. His kisses stray from my mouth, leaving tiny trails from the corner of my lips around my cheeks, up my nose, over my eyes, peppering my scar.

            We’re different tonight; everything is. My hands are calmly rubbing his arms, eyes closed, a stupid ass smile on my lips. Severus brings his foot slowly, painstakingly, up the length of my leg, rubbing me gently as his lips continue mapping my face. Then his hands take over the foot’s work, and I let out a long sigh. It’s unbelievable, how good such simple things feel, like his fingers dragging down my chest, and our leg hairs rubbing against each other, and his cheek pressed again mine while his breath comes out in puffs against my skin. My eyes drift shut again, still smiling like an idiot into the dim light.

            A hand comes to the back of my neck, and pulls up causing my chin to come up with it and my forehead fall back into the mattress. He lowers himself to the long stretch of skin he’s exposed to the candlelight, kissing slowly from my shoulders up to my earlobe. I let out a sigh as he settles there, sucking and nipping the sensitive flesh. His sharp nose prods me as he inhales sharply, and savors the nape of my neck again. While one hand stays busy cradling and massaging my neck, the other is running feathery strokes up and down my abdomen.

           I moan again, reveling in the slow, _different_ way that Severus’s is ravishing me. Purposeful, passionate, like he’s trying to savor every touch and devour me slowly….and everything is heightened with my eyes still squeezed closed. Even the sheets dragging against the back of my legs feels somehow more exotic and dirty. Not that anything a student and his teacher do in a dungeon, alone in the night isn’t dirty, I suppose….

          “Ah!” I coo gently, as that spidery hand has made its way lower, slowly circling my hips and upper thighs, dipping _ever so gently_ down to just lightly brush against my member. Again and again they circle, and then at last both hands have settled, palms flat over my pubes. One hand slides up, then the second. Soon his long pale fingers are encircling my cock and taking slow, undulating swipes up and down, up and down. I groan, head falling back again and hips arching up into the tight, hot grip. The pad of one of his thumbs is slowly rubbing along the head of my cock, while his bottom hand is alternating between squeezing and stroking my shaft.

          Severus hums softly, then the one hand leaves the top of my dick to reach below and gently cup my balls. He plays with me, one hand squeezing and pumping, the other dipping behind my sac to trail fingers down to my arse. I whimper, tossing my head to the side and feeling my sweaty bangs. Severus leans down and covers my lips with his own. I feel two hot brands on the back of my thighs, and then Severus’ is slowly pushing his palms into my legs and guiding them up into the air. He slides closer and I can feel his heat radiating, can hear his heavy breathing. My legs settle onto his shoulders, one on either side of his neck and I shudder. His hands reach around to wrap his fingers around my thighs, and he stares down at me. I’m flushed, and my teeth are grinding against my lip. His hands trail down to settle on my hips, and then his thumbs begin slow circular motions over my jutting hipbones. Severus leans down then, forcing a _deep_ stretch in my hamstrings as his shoulders bend me in half. With a stretch of his neck his lips find mine, and he gives me a long, slow, kiss, which ends with him moaning in my mouth.

            Our positions hide nothing, and I feel his hot prick brushing against my entrance. I shudder and he groans again. His hands begin hurriedly running up and down the expanse of my leg he can reach, trailing from kneecap back to hip, then the hands are gone and I hear a bottle pop. Something cold and slick is being pressed against my arse and I shudder in anticipation.

            “ _Oh_ ….” I moan.

            His finger begins running over the tight flesh, trailing the cool cream around.

            “Ahhh….” My hips arch and I drag handfuls of the sheets.

            Now there’s a little more force behind the finger pad, then with a quick hooking motion it slips through the puckered flesh. He spreads the lubricant through me, then begins stretching and twisting his fingers.

            Severus is sucking on my earlobes as the fingers pull out, pulling away to whisper something in my ear. I can’t make it out, but the hot breath in my ear makes me shudder. I feel his hot, hard tip nudging me, and then he slowly, _slowly_ edges in. I gasp and my hands drag through the bedding again in rapture as the long, slow glide brings Severus inside me. He moans softly and drops his head, hair falling to obscure his face. Then he braces his hands and his hips give a first, controlled thrust.

            “Ah…” His voice rumbles down and washes over me as a second, then a third jerk of his hips follow. “Ah!”

            I whimper, staring up at him in a dazed heat. His voice is so, so sexy.

            “Severus,” I croon as with another rumbling moan and a face that almost looks pained he jabs my insides again. Oh, he’s whispering in my ear again, no dirty talk, no swears, just a whisper. He’s saying something, over and over, peppered with moans and heavy breathing. It’s my name, and it sounds amazing like that.

            “Harry….Harry… _Harry_!”

            His thrusts are even, steady, rhythmic, each one pumping me into the soft mattress around me. My arms wrap around him, and I bury my head in his neck, eye’s squeezed shut. The only sounds are our skin and the rustling of sheets, even our breathing seems softer. I exhale gently, trembling as this agonizing pleasure goes on. I don’t pull away, or lie back, or do anything normal, I remain where I am, clinging to Severus and unable to break the strange mood that’s fallen over me. I squeeze the arms that are around him, keeping him close.

            “Oh….oh God….Severuuuuuuus!” The long, undignified moan replaces the silence as I feel my stomach tighten. I’m close, and that calm, steady pace is driving me mad. “Severus….”

            He lets out a long, heavy breath in response, then props himself up to look down into my face. His hips are still going, slow even thrusts, and I feel my eyes drift shut as my toes start curling.

            “Ah…ah…. _AH!”_ I clutch him, mouth falling open and eyes staying squeezed closed. My orgasm pulses through me, waves of ecstasy and shudders. His intense stare never leaves me as, after a few more moments, he comes inside me. His head falls forward and he leans his sweaty forehead against mine. His pants are heavy, and he’s trembling. Time is still for a moment, as we lay there together panting in the last moments of tension…before the relief and exhaustion and wonderful relaxation take us and Severus rolls over and hits his back while I let out a long exhale into the dim room.

            “ _Oh_.” I sigh. I collapse back into the bed even more, all my body feeling light. “That was….amazing.”

            He says nothing, but his lips pull up into a smirk and he kisses me.

 

 

 

                                                                 *

 

 

            “Hey.”

            With considerable effort, I open my eyes and shift so I can see him. I want to be aggravated, (the boy has no appreciation for a tired old man…) but when my eyes focus on him I find myself thinking something nauseating about how beautiful he is instead. His voice in the quiet sounds gentle, and the hand that has slowly wormed its way over to my arm is brushing me softly.

            “Hmm?”

            He smiles a little, -still looking damn beautiful with his vivid, young skin, and stupid little scar- then he props himself up on an elbow. The blanket falls from his chest and I see more of that young pale skin, and just as I’m wondering if this tired old man has another round in him, Harry brings my attention back to his wry smile.

            “Do you remember the first time? You know, that we started this.”

            “That I touched you? Because it was a while before I actually-”

            “No, before even that.” His little smile turns into a big, goofier one, and he looks away from me. Getting embarrassed. Oh hell, this is probably going to be sappy…

            “That very first time….In your office…when you kissed me….” He laughs a little, cheeks turning pink and he looks away for good this time, lying back down on his pillow. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be weird.”

            It would require a significant break in my pride to pry further, and far too much sentiment to tell him I thought he was adorable, so I go for acidic nonchalance.

            “As if I could forget that sloppy dog kiss.” I sniff, bringing my gaze to the ceiling with apparent ease. “You maintained an appalling lack of finesse for-”

            Lips over mine and a sudden warm, wiggly weight on my chest. Harry’s tongue running over my own, sloppy as ever, Harry’s hair tickling my ear.

            “Oh hush!” He laughs, looking down at me with a playful face that makes that tingling twist into knots. He bends down for another kiss, a slower, deeper one, and then with a small smile moves to roll off me, but my hands catch his elbows, and with a groan I roll him under me instead.

 

          After the sweat has dried and Harry is snoring by my side, I run a hand over his hair, hating myself for the gesture. As I pull myself free from the intoxicating boy I return to my side of the bed, beginning to feel the twinges in my back and my thighs that warn of a sore morning. I crane my neck to look at the snoring lump, then fix my gaze on my ceiling.

            Yes….I remember it. I stare up at the darkness as my mind wanders down old paths that Harry for some reason was pursing tonight. I remember that afternoon that had been the end of my sad façade of normality, just as clearly as I remember the months that led to it. Every adrenaline pumping fight when his face would get so red. Every maddening class where he’d taunt me with that Potter defiance. Every time one of us would really lose it, and I’d sweep across the room to grab the corners of his desk, or he come storming up to mine, and we’d just _stare_ at each other, confused and denied lust burning into hatred and fury instead.

            I remember when I broke. That day had been the biggest fight in Potter and Snape history (which arguably is an impressive fight). We’d been in class together, and I just _couldn’t_ keep my mouth shut, and for his part he felt no lack of responses. I couldn’t stop pushing, pushing, _pushing_ him….towards a break, a snap, a reaction, towards anything! Towards….

            I know why it had finally exploded, why the boy had lashed out, because this time it wasn’t about us, it was about one of his little friends. Yes, that day I had apparently wounded the insufferable Hermione Granger, and with her tiny little gasp, and hurt, doey eyes, had come the valiant and loud mouthed Harry Potter to the rescue…stupid Gryffindors. He looked at me with a wrath I hadn’t seen before, and leapt to his feet.

            “What did you just say to her?” He hissed.

             I can remember feeling embarrassed, knowing I’d gone too far, and that had only made it worse, because then I couldn’t stop. With a sardonic smile I leaned back in my chair, cocking my head challengingly at the seething youth.

            “I believe I just told your insipid little girlfriend to keep her mouth shut. A piece of advice that wouldn’t be lost on you, Mr. P-”

            The clatter of Harry’s cauldron hitting the floor resounded through the dungeons, along with Granger’s startled cry and a few miscellaneous gasps. Then went his books, his quills, his ink well shattered with an explosion of black. I watched it all from my desk, keeping my face locked into a calm mask.

            “Finished with your tantrum, Potter?”

            “You….you-”

            “Ah, ah, ah,” I said softly, raising a hand. “I’d stop there little Gryffindor, while you can still-”

            “ _Fuck you!_ **FUCK YOU!** You’ve got no right-”

            “Now you listen to me, you-”

            And then we were both just screaming, screaming at the top of our lungs as my other students cowered. Somehow I’d grabbed him and propelled him out of the class, managing a strangled “GET OUT!” over my shoulder, which was the closest I could come to “Class dismissed” at the moment. I whisked him down the hall, my hand fisted like iron on his robes. I was storming with determination, refusing to look at him or his pink face, refusing to think about how my hands trembled from the proximity.

          I almost broke the classroom door as I tore into Minerva McGonagall’s class. She jumped and her second year students looked up in terror.

         “Take him!” My voice cracked as I flung him forward, but I didn’t have the mental capacity to consider that. My chest was heaving, that I attributed to the anger, but the trembling, the tremors running through my whole body, those I was much more perturbed by. “Take him and deal with him!!” I bellowed. “Get him out of my sight before I take every point that Gryffindor has ever had!!!”

         “Severus!” She cried. There was a long stillness in which she brought her wide gaze from me to Harry. She saw him, standing where he’d stumbled to from my shove, face red, lips a thin jagged line, burning….Apparently what she saw was enough to convince her of his guilt, or perhaps my barely concealed hysteria had done it. Either way she seemed to decide that whatever was happening did need her attention. She took a deep breath, then, regaining her calm, snippy composure, regarded us coolly.

       “I am in class at the moment, Professor Snape. Take Potter with you to your office, and I will be there to meet you both very shortly.”

       “I will _not-_ ”

      “Take the boy out of this room immediately and wait for me! I have full confidence that you can control the situation for thirty four minutes.”

            Oh….if she only knew.

 

            For twenty some odd of those minutes we had remained in deadly silence; I brooding in a corner, my arms crossed and resting on the reassuring stone wall, he sitting on a small stool. I sometime like to indulge myself with embellishments of innocence, to tweak the story here and there with my surprise and obliviousness, but I cannot lie to myself, not alone here in the dark with the boy sleeping beside me. I knew I was uncomfortable. Perhaps I was not completely sure of why, or fully aware of how very alone we were, just the two of us in that stone room….but I was very uncomfortable. My stomach was in knots, and my heart rate had not slowed down since our fight. Not one bit.

            For his part, sitting not so very far from me, he seemed anxious, fidgeting in his seat and rubbing his fingers together occasionally. His throat was dry, very dry from the scratchy sounds his attempts at swallowing made. He didn’t look at me, in fact he looked everywhere but. Strangely…anticlimactically, my life was undone by a sneeze.

            Breaking the icy silence came a mousey little snort, then two large sneezes from the boy on the stool, followed by a loud, abrasive sniff. I winced at the sound of rolling mucus, and glared at him as his hand dragged under his nose. I could see in the flicker of candles a tiny, clear trail on his hand and I sneered. Merlin I hated that!

            “Wipe your face like a damn adult!” I snarled.

            He looked up startled, then his eyes darkened.

            “Shut up!”

            My face contorted and I felt my stomach clench.     

            “You ought to learn to control your temper,” my voice was like a stranger’s, it was so low and deep instead of cruel or snide.

            His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened. I could see the rage burning in his green, green eyes. Or, at least I thought I could at the time. He leapt to his feet even as I felt mine sweeping me towards him. My robes billowing behind me I was propelled towards the fierce child, feeling my heart pound and sweat forming across my neck. My blood was boiling, my hands were shaking, and I knew that he, my fiery little antagonist, was in the grips of the same physical anxiety. We were barely six inches from each other, seething down into the other’s face. My hands were tingling and so were my knees, I could feel my whole body set on fire.         

            “You’re one to talk, aren’t you?” His lips might have shook just a little but his voice didn’t. No, it came out strong and distressed…and a little husky. My throat was going dry, and I felt my cheeks get warm.

             At some point, without realizing it, we’d begun pacing in small restless loops, circling each other as our eyes pierced the other.

           “Always attacking your students, abusing us like _dogs_. Always lording over us,”

            My fingers felt stiff. He was sweating, I could see it glisten. I could smell him. Smell him as our circles got just a little tighter with each rotation, and we seemed to ooze just a little closer.

            “Sneering down at us as if we’re-”

           “Pathetic?” I hissed. “I can’t help the truth, can I?”

            We’d stopped, and there he was, standing almost chest to chest with me. Glaring up at me with heavy lidded, taunting eyes. His lips were parted and cheeks were reddening. I told myself it was from anger, but I knew damn well it wasn’t. A trickle of sweat rolled down my neck and my mouth was extraordinarily dry.

           “Really?” he breathed, “well, I suppose you’re the expert.”   

            And then he turned his back on me, whisked across the room, and began intently staring at the wall behind my desk. And then….then it was like watching a dream. I remotely felt my legs reach out, knew I was moving, could even hear the screaming, the _screaming_ inside my mind to stop, to turn back, to run….but I didn’t. I followed the movement. He turned and his eyes widened just for a moment, then they narrowed again. He looked at me then, turning that bold Potter stare right on me, and I felt a thrill shoot through my body. My heart was pounding and my ears were buzzing, but my lips were tight, in a strong bitter line. I can not forget his scent….I could _smell_ his arousal, his sweat….him…I could smell _him_.

            We were standing too close. I knew that, and I knew what was coming. And I wanted to stop it. But I couldn’t.

            “What?” Defensive, angry, a little too aggressive. Like some sort of dog, trying to bark braver then he felt. “What do you want?”

            I said nothing. God, I wanted to. “You!” I wanted to say. “I want _you_ , you fucking little brat, you stupid little whore! Get out! Get away from me! Don’t you see that we’re standing too close?! Can’t you feel it?” I wanted to scream at him, to push him away, I wanted to stop the storm that was raging between us. And the inevitable destruction it would cause. I wanted to open the door, shove him out and then run far away and transfer to Durmstrang. Durmstrang, where it was always freezing and there weren’t students with green eyes and perpetually messy hair.     

           “What?” He said again. “ _What?!_ ” The tension had risen to such a fury that he was almost shrill with nerves. My nostrils flared and I inhaled sharply.

            A silence; the thickest, most grotesque, _loudest_ silence that ever rang through human ears. Silence, only breathing. Heavy breathing. And then he said, in a quieter, more scared voice,

            “What a-a-are you doing?” He said it softly, but then with a little more force as I invaded further into his space. “What are we—you doing! What _is_ this? Stop! _Say something goddamn it!_ ” Our bodies managed to ease just a little bit closer, but I wasn’t sure which one of us moved. His hand clutched his satchel convulsively, like he was fighting the impulse to defend himself with it. Probably was.

            My heart was pounding, and so was his. I could tell from the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He brought his gaze up to mine. Eyes scared and confused, but not surprised, of course not. Not the least bit surprised.

            “Harry,” I managed.

            “Stop…” He whimpered.

            And then I kissed him. Hard. For half of a second we stayed like that, frozen in that kiss. Then, Harry shouted, almost _screamed_ , against my mouth, and my hands were snatching him closer. One hand fisted in his hair, the other grabbed the front of his robes. I jerked his body against mine and he wailed.

            “No!” He gasped, giving sound to my thoughts. “No, no please! Please,” he turned his head, and exposed his long pale neck to me. I pounced, frantically devouring every inch of that beautiful skin I could get. Harry groaned beneath me, fingernails digging into my back. I scooped him up onto the edge of the desk I’d pushed him to. He spread his legs, allowing me to push up closer, and then his shaking hands moved from my back to burrow in my hair.

_Oh Merlin…no…don’t do this to me boy. Keep screaming, pushing me away, tell me I’m disgusting, tell me I’m wrong, tell me you hate me. Resist me! Resist me you horrible brat! Resist me…_

          His lips opened and I tasted his tongue for the first time. I hated myself for the groan I couldn’t stop, and the animalistic, hungry growl that followed it. I hated that my hands were mapping every inch of the body I wanted _desperately_ and there was nothing I could have done to stop them. I hated my weakness, I hated my fever. I hated Harry’s throaty gasps. I hated the desperate “ _Please!_ ” that came tumbling out of his bruising lips. I hated that I felt alive for the first time in a decade.

My growls turned into syllables, and finally into a word. A single word. The only word that means a fuck to me.

            “Harry…Harry… _Harry…_ ” Between every whisper, every gasp, I found another mouthful of his skin. Harry, eyes squeezed close and mouth frantically, soundlessly moving, leaned into my embraces, gasping and sighing in my ear. I groaned against his throat, settling there long enough to suck a deep bruise into existence. Harry let out a soft cry, hands flying up to my back and clutching at me desperately.

            Pushed against him like I was I could feel his erection, and could hardly hide mine. I doubt I’d ever been so hard.

            “Ah!”

            I shuddered at his sounds, feeling a jerk in my loins. Somehow that pulled me to my senses. Well, almost…It slowed me for a moment at any rate. I paused a moment, eyes slowly opening to take in the pink-cheeked breathless boy inches from me.

            “Professor?” he had whispered. Maybe it was the anxiety on his face, or the way his eyes had searched mine, or the reference to my position of authority over him that the title forcefully reminded me of, but I balked.

            “D…don’t…” My voice…my god was that my voice? My chest had been heaving so hard, my words punctuated by my heavy pants. “Don’t say…that…” I brought trembling hands up to his face and they settled first on his cheek before they burrowed into his hair. “Severus. Severus…my name is…Severus…” He was staring dazedly up at me, eyes drifting shut as my hands pulled and wove through his hair. His lips parted and I pulled him close, inhaling sharply.

            “Sev… _Severus!_ ” It came out as a desperate gasp, my name stumbling from his lips like a sin. I gasped too, my lips coming to his. We kissed, long and deep and his hands flew up to my face too.

            “Severus!” He said again as our lips broke a moment. “Severus, Severus!”

            He clutched me, and our lips found each other’s again fiercely. Again and again. I believe it was at this point the whole thing descended to a frantic tussle of hungry kisses and needy, grasping hands. And somewhere in that delirium McGonagall had finally come to fetch the student she’d left in my care.

Somehow, in the millisecond between hearing the door and her passionate entrance we’d managed to disentangle, but there was no recovering our countenances. Luckily she misinterpreted. When Minerva McGonagall burst into my office we were both breathless, I having only just managed to turn my back on Harry, not looking at each other, red and sweaty, and I had a shaking, terrified hand rubbing my face. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and as she stormed over to her headstrong student, I literally fought a wave of nausea. She’d thought we’d been fighting….yes…fighting…..fighting. I gathered the courage to look over my shoulder as she whisked him away from me, feeling an icy cold plunge in my stomach.

            By every god that had ever been…what had I just done?

Minerva was furious alright, I could tell by the way she wrenched him from my office by his arm. There at the door he’d looked back, meeting my stare with a lost, fleeting glance, and then he was gone.

            Harry grunts in his sleep and then rolls over while letting an arm plop over me carelessly.  My hand unconsciously comes to rest on this arm, then I close my heavy eyes.

 

                                                                                            *

 

 

            When I wake up Severus is still asleep. It’s a first, and as I gently rub his arms and whisper to him he begins stirring. When he at last opens a grumpy eye it’s blood shot and sunken into deep bags.

           “You look awful,” I say with a little laugh I can’t keep in. “Didn’t you sleep?”

           "With a horny creature like you who could,” he grunts, slowly propping himself up on an elbow.

           “It was you who-”

           He silences me with a kiss, closing his tired, red eyes. I smile around his lips.

           “I have to be heading back.” My hand reaches out and settles on his cheek, thumb brushing his sharp bones. “They’ll flip if I spend a whole night out.”

          “What would they do if you spent a whole night in the arms of a twisted child molester?” He groused, slowly pushing himself up with a wince. I swat him on the arm as I roll out of bed and begin feeling around for my clothes. He’s thrown a black robe loosely around his shoulders; I can hear it swishing behind me as he follows me through his study to the door. My hand on the knob I pause, feeling suddenly terribly, terribly cold. My hesitation goes on too long. Longer then he thought, longer then even I thought…I just stay, my hand on the door knob, hovering at the exit. There is a hall waiting for me, a long, dark hall, where I will hurry along, my invisibility cloak on tight to futilely combat the chill. Then I’ll go running through the castle, back to the tower, and then sneak into my room to my empty, cold bed. My chambers have never felt so far, or so unwanted.

          I’m still standing, like a genius, and he’s noticed. Severus cocks his head, attempting to peer at my face, to read me. Perhaps he sees what he’s looking for because he reaches out his arms. There at the door he holds me, long, surprisingly strong arms wrapped tight around my frame. I don’t waste time offering obligatory objections, or rolling my eyes to look less clingy, I stand right where I am with my arms pressed against his chest and my head nestled beneath his chin. My eyes squeeze shut, afraid to open them and end the contact that’s thrilling me on so many ridiculous levels. Yet he wastes no energy with complaints either, he just holds me. Perhaps he understands how important this seems all of a sudden. Perhaps he understands how much this tendril of softness speaks to me. Perhaps he feels my heartbeat too, thudding to him through my green Weasley sweater.

         It’s several minutes in the doorway, but he still doesn’t pull away. He lets me stand there as long as I want. We’re standing in the same room we did not twelve hours ago, screeching at each other like lunatics. I take a deep breath, and my hands slide up his sides to settle on the back of his shoulders as Severus props his chin up in my hair. I think of Ginny, and how not long ago I’d held her the same way.

 _It’ll be alright Gin, you’ll see. We’re not going to be fine, we’re going to be great._ I smile into Severus’s chest, my hands pressing deeply and hugging him tightly. He lowers his gaze to me, a hand coming to my chin and guiding my lips to his. We kiss deeply, so, so deeply…As our lips separate I take two long steps backwards, passing from his doorway into the dark passage beyond. Our eyes meet a moment, then with a flick of my hands I pull the hood up over my face and turn away, stepping out into the darkness.

 

 


End file.
